#the stars in their wings turn to eyes and its like their wings are melting into dark ink. covering the screen

[sonofthedunes]

it’s that time again! happy may the fourth to all my lovely followers :3 this year’s offering is a luke and andrie story, set about a year before the events of return of the jedi. if any of you remember my first angsty headcanons post, this is an expansion of the last bullet point. (and as for luke’s hair, it’s not EXACTLY the rotj hairstyle? it’s shorter on the back and sides and the bangs are higher. he let it grow out a bit on dagobah lol.) warning for language and sexual content, minors DNI.

parting is all we know of heaven and all we need to know of hell

Onboard Home One, 3 ABY

The sensations come to her in fragments: the absence of a warm body beside her, the bedside lamp flicked on, the rustling of fabric. Irritation—did he really think he could sneak away while she slept?—melts into glum acceptance. The moment has arrived; in a few short minutes he’ll be leaving her, going back to Dagobah with Artoo. To finish his training. To become, at last, a Jedi Knight.

Andrie pushes herself upright, brushing wavy red-gold hair back from her eyes, and fixes a bleary glare on the room’s other occupant. Luke meets her eyes over his shoulder, frozen in the act of pulling on his pants. The atmosphere is tense. At length he sighs and breaks eye contact, sliding the pants to his waist. “…I was going to wake you,” he offers by way of excuse. “I wouldn’t have just—“

“Really? ‘Cause that’s what it looks like,” Andrie points out. She kicks the sheets aside and scrambles across the mattress and out of bed, watching Luke as he buttons his fly. “Look, I know this is hard for you,” she adds. “For me too. But…stars, you’ve left me to wake up alone so many times. Don’t do it today.”

Turning to face her fully, he reaches out to gently touch her cheek. “You’ve done it to me too,” he half-smiles.

“Luke…”

“I know,” he sighs, rubbing his thumb across her faint freckles. “But I wasn’t going to this time, I swear.”

“I’m not convinced,” Andrie admits, noting with some surprise that he’s using his prosthetic hand. Even weeks later, Luke still seems uncomfortable with its very presence. Last night in bed, he’d almost been ashamed to use it. Her heart ached for him then. Maybe this, in some small way, is progress. At the very least, he doesn’t remove it when she confesses her doubt.

“I deserve that. But I’m glad you’re awake anyway,” he says. “There’s something I’d like you to do for me.”

Now that gives Andrie pause. What is there left to do? Luke had spent a good part of the previous day packing and ensuring his X-wing was in tip-top shape. He’d sent Artoo off for maintenance as well, and had somehow caught Leia in a rare quiet moment to talk (about what, Andrie hasn’t asked). Very likely he’d meditated too, he often does before a mission. And only when all of this was completed had he joined her for dinner, and then come back to her quarters…no, try as she might, Andrie can’t fathom what might have slipped through the cracks. “I give up. What do you need?” she wonders.

And Luke answers with a very strange question:

“Do you have any scissors?”

—-

They stand in the tiny attached refresher, grouped in front of the sink and its wall-mounted mirror. Though he’d showered earlier, Luke has wet his hair again to make things easier for Andrie; an off-white towel lies draped around his shoulders. Hovering just behind him (they’re nearly the same height—at least that won’t be an obstacle), Andrie fingers a chunk of hair nervously. The scissors are clutched almost painfully in her other hand. “Are you sure you want me to do this?” she inquires.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he replies calmly.

“Do you know how long it’s been since I cut someone’s hair? Besides my own, I mean.”

“And your hair looks great! I’m not worried.”

Andrie huffs. “Bit biased, aren’t you?”

“I only say what I mean,” Luke reminds her, dimple softly shadowing the corner of his mouth. “Anyway, if I tried to do it myself it would look terrible. All uneven and patchy. I trust you.”

You may come to regret those words, Andrie wants to retort. Instead, she bites her tongue and seizes the hair again. She’ll start at the back—that way, if she fucks up the damage will be easier to hide. Theoretically. Slowly she raises the scissors, blades sliding apart…eyes the piece of hair, gripped tight in her fingers, then slots it between the blades and decisively—

Snip. Andrie brings her hand away, a damp hunk of blonde hair along for the ride. Not nearly as much as she thought she’d cut, thank the maker. This is okay. She can manage as long as she follows this pattern; Luke was fairly vague on the style he wanted, only wishing for his hair to be shorter. “You good?” her lover asks, frowning at her in the mirror.

Lowering her hands, Andrie peeks around and nods reassuringly. “Oh yeah! No problem.” Flicking the hair away onto the floor (a problem for her future self), she draws in a breath and selects the next piece.

And so it continues, the minutes ticking away as she works. Snip, snip, snip, the steady rhythm of her scissors as they bite through Luke’s thick, soft hair. Errant locks drift into the sink basin, or catch in the towel he’s wearing, or glide to the tile floor. Gradually Andrie fashions it into a more…she supposes she’d call it conservative shape, leaving more of his neck bare and without quite as much body. It looks more or less even—should be easier to keep clean and tidy on Dagobah. “…all right,” she finally mutters, the first words either of them have spoken in some time. “That’s done. Turn around and I’ll get the front.”

Luke obeys, glancing quickly into the mirror as he rotates. “Hey, not bad!” he exclaims. “Maybe you should set up a salon in the next base.”

If it’s at all possible, he falls even more in love with her when she rolls her eyes and shushes him. “Quiet, you,” she chides him, adjusting his chin as she inspects his bangs. “Let’s see…”

The front of Luke’s hair takes considerably less time than the back. The pair quickly agree that he should keep his bangs, albeit trimmed slightly higher on his forehead; his sidelocks too are shortened, allowing his ears a bit more breathing room. Carefully removing his hair-covered towel cape, Andrie passes Luke a fresh one to dry off. She rinses her scissors, but can’t be bothered to clean up the remnants of her work just now. Her attention is focused on Luke, on what she’s done to him. He looks…different. Not different like the way his facial scars had changed him—this is something more intangible. It’s as if what remained of his youthfulness and innocence now lies in the sink with his hair. As he studies his reflection, turning his head this way and that, she can’t find a trace of the farmboy from Tatooine. There’s a sternness to his jaw now, a sadness in his eyes. For a brief second, Andrie’s anger flares at what this war—at what Vader has taken from him. From all of them.

And now he’ll be taken from her, by his own choice.

A bubble of relief swells in her chest when Luke doesn’t seem to hate his new hairstyle. “Thank you,” he tells her, squeezing her hand before he exits the refresher. Andrie extinguishes the light as she follows, eyes darting to the foot of her bed. There lies Luke’s flightsuit, neatly folded (more or less) and awaiting its owner. With fluid surety born of years summoned to midnight sorties, he shakes it out, shoves limbs into sleeves and legs, draws the zipper up over his fatigues and snaps the collar shut. Then come the flak vest, the life support pack, the harnesses, the smartly polished boots. His bags are already stowed in the X-wing’s cargo hold—all that remain to be retrieved are his gloves and battered helmet. And once he has those…

They’re sitting on her work table, but Luke makes no move to pick them up. Not yet. Instead, he strides to where Andrie stands. Blue contemplates blue as they face one another. Are they memorizing the sight, to sustain them through their separation? Or perhaps reflecting on how much they’ve changed? The naive kids who found themselves caught in a civil war—where have they gone��and what would they think of the man and woman in this room?

Luke swallows, lips thinning. “Andrie, I…” he begins evenly.

But Andrie halts him: “Don’t.” They’ve said the usual platitudes over and over: come back to me, be brave, I love you. She’s sick of them. She wants something solid. Contact. The distance between them closes rapidly, her hands seizing his biceps and their mouths fusing.

Immediately he relaxes into the kiss, hands splaying on her waist; a tiny whimper escapes him. They accept whatever comfort it gives them, this reprieve from the struggle. Last night wasn’t like this, Andrie thinks. Last night, they’d devoured one another. Clothes were torn off and tossed about the room, bruises blossoming from teeth and too-enthusiastic grips…he fucked her from behind, on her hands and knees, hips bucking like an untamed fathier. They’d fallen asleep soon after, still naked, exhausted and exhilarated. The encounter had been good. Very good.

But that wasn’t all last night had been…some time during those long hours, they awoke and turned toward each other again, desire rekindled. Luke shuddered when Andrie touched him, ghosting over his chest. “Please,” he whispered, every inch of him straining with need. The need for so many things. And Andrie knew she couldn’t give him all of them, but she’d give all she could. “Yes” was both reply and entreaty, her body unfolding for him as he surged tidelike against her. This time had been gentler; they made love without urgency, without greed or lingering fear. This time they lay entwined, fingers caressing and mouths falling open in soft sighs and groans; his strokes were slow and deep, his eyes shining as he gazed down at her. She gazed back, a smile creasing her face as she reached up to touch his. How safe she felt in his arms…the Empire’s might could never harm them here. All they wished for in this moment was release—and it was granted to them. The first round of climaxes had crashed in with loud moans and “yes baby, right there”. The second arrived much more unobtrusively: Andrie gasped and dug her nails into Luke’s back, and Luke uttered a soft broken cry into her neck, collapsing onto her as their chests heaved. “Love you,” he managed, holding her tighter. “Love you so much.”

“I love you too,” she answered, and felt the truth of it in her bones. And wondered how many more times she’d get the opportunity to tell him.

Just as she wonders now if this might be their last kiss. It’s over far too soon, his bottom lip sticking slightly to hers as he pulls away. He gives her a smile that’s meant to hearten her, but really just makes her sadder. “Look after Leia for me,” he beseeches.

How could Andrie refuse? Of all the people Luke’s leaving behind, the princess needs support most of all. “Of course,” she vows. “And I know Artoo will look after you for me.”

“Something like that,” Luke chuckles, though their smiles soon fade. The temperamental astromech is probably waiting in the hangar as they speak, grumbling to himself about what’s taking Luke so long.

There can be no more delay.

He walks slowly to the work table, loops his gloves through his belt and tucks his helmet under his arm. Even with his shortened hair, Luke is still a picture-perfect Rebel pilot, and Andrie can’t help but admire him. He’s so beautiful, and so strong, and she misses him already. There’s nothing more to say, no other final reminders to bestow. They’re equipped as best they can be to face the long months ahead, he in his training and she searching for Han. When their friend has been found, Luke will come back to rescue him. At least that was what he’d promised. She prays he’ll be true to his word.

And that makes her realize there IS one thing she hasn’t yet said to him—the blessing a Jedi most needs to hear.

“Luke.” He turns to her, expectant. Andrie inhales, and with all the sincerity she can muster pronounces: “The Force is with you.” Not “may the Force be with you.” It is. It has to be. For all our sakes.

His eyebrows lift in surprise, questions gathering—the subject of the Force has been a thorny one between them for years. But in the next heartbeat he seems to reconsider. There will be time for that someday…when this is over. “Goodbye, Andrie,” he tells her in a low voice, readjusting the helmet.

Even before she turns away, they both know she won’t come to the hangar with him.

She listens to his footsteps, and to the opening and closing of the automatic door, with a trembling chin and smarting eyes. Stars, how it hurts. There has never been a day it hasn’t pained her to send him off, regardless of the destination. But let him she must, just as she must attend to her own duties. Andrie rubs the tears away and heads back to the refresher. After sweeping up the hair, she aims to shower, dress and secure breakfast; then she’ll check in with Rebel command, and if Leia isn’t among them she’ll locate the princess herself. They’re no closer to finding Han, and Andrie will do whatever she can to assist.

When she and Luke reunite, he’ll be a Jedi. Heaven only knows what Andrie will be—but whatever it is, she’ll continue to serve the Rebellion with courage and devotion, and she’ll cling to the loyalty and love that sustain her.

But, she decides, she won’t be cutting anyone else’s hair.

[howlonomy]

First of all, This AU, your art, and m!clover are just- kicking my hyperfixation to a whole new level, tbh. I adore all of this sosososo much and I was deadass stimming from how excited I was!

On that note! You've mentioned that Clover has the (albeit small outside of very specific circumstances) possibility of melting with too much DT, so as such, my angst loving ass, wonders if you could give us an idea as to how that might look, if that's okie!

(And as an aside: This is purely headcanon, but with the little heart (soul?) attacks they already have sometimes, I imagine that if they tried to force themselves to keep going through an attack, their body would not like it, and start dripping just a little bit, stabilizing again when things calm down, but it still begins. For instance, if an attack happened during a serious battle or smth. and they couldn't just stop, for obvious reasons.)

Anywho! Those are just some thoughts after reading through literally all of your monster clover au stuff over the span of a few days!

FIRST OF ALL THANK YOU!!! that makes me so happy to hear how much you’ve been enjoying the au augahaug 🥹🥹

second of all, here ya go!!

i imagine the caption would be something like “you feel the eyes of judgment weighing upon your soul” or something like that. AND I LOVE THAT IDEA SO MUCH i think something like that would happen outside of this little au within and au as well!!

clover practicing new attacks with kanako and they push themselves a little too far and just. a fleck of dust shakes off their hand. its not great but it gives good standard for what their limits are.

[orphicmusings]

nothing’s gonna hurt you, baby

summary: the aftermath of what happened in skyhaven with pre-relationship sylus. hurt/comfort, exploring mc’s trauma.

A simultaneous sigh blooms from both of your lungs as the last wanderer crumbles into oblivion. The dust of its essence floated up to the polluted night sky of the N109 zone, painting artificial stars for the pair of victors below. Sylus lifts his gaze to you after he scrapes what’s left of the aftermath from his fingernails. He looks infuriatingly unaffected. You, however…

“You look like shit.” He remarks playfully, his eyes softening as he holds out his hand to help you up. You, like he anticipates, softly slap it away and get up on wobbly legs. “Fuck off.” You retort, still trying to catch your breath, and he simply smiles- striding next to you and subtly offering you his weight to lean on. You tried stubbornly standing on your own, but found yourself surrendering to his quiet help as you walked back to his bike.

“I’m not letting you ride back to Linkon like this.” He huffed, handing you his spare helmet, the one that is practically yours at this point. “Spend the night at the base.” Coming from him, it sounded more of a purring command than a gentle suggestion. “Get some beauty sleep.”

You had felt your muscles tense and your heart clenched as you were rapidly reminded of the last time you stayed over someone else’s place. The sound of doors locking, the pills, the confusion, the breathing man that you still mourned. Before you could refuse, though, a traitorous yawn escaped your throat. You knew he was right, that you were in no shape to travel home, and it’s not like he could exactly traipse into Linkon at the moment to accompany you. Besides, you’ve been fighting alongside him for a while now, and while he has little weaknesses, you’re willing to exploit them if need be. “Alright.” You breathe your surrender as you put the helmet on, bracing yourself for his driving skills.

Luke and Kieran greet you at the door like eager puppies. What happened, boss? Boss lady? Did ya kill something? How many? How bloody? Any guts?

Sylus held out a commanding hand and answered for you, thankfully. “Don’t ambush the poor girl, she’s beat up.”

You rolled your eyes at that. “I’m not beat up-”

“Come.” He holds his arm out for you, and you defeatedly take it, blindly following wherever he deigns to go.

“My head…” You groaned at the harsh overhead kitchen light being flicked on, rubbing your temples. “Does the big bad mob boss happen to have ibuprofen?”

“I’m not headache proof, believe it or not.” He exhaled a small chuckle. “Sit down.” He ushered you to the sofa across from the kitchen table. You obliged, but not because he told you to, of course. You were achey, dirty and exhausted. He held a glass of water in one hand and two pills in the other, and you hesitated slightly as you let him give them to you. Turning the pills over in your fingers with a squint of your eyes, you looked for the label etched into the chalky red circles to identify that it was, in fact, ibuprofen.

Sylus noticed. Of course he noticed, he always does. “What?” He tilts his head, confused, but his tone still holds a hint of safe and familiar teasing. “You think I’m slipping you something?”

Swallowing back those nagging memories again along with the medicine, you force a chuckle. “Can never be sure with a lawless scoundrel like you, can I?”

He grinned, one of those rare smiles of his, toothy and reaching for his ruby eyes. “I may be a lawless scoundrel, sweetheart, but I’m not a monster.”

Not a monster, because a monster would do that.

Your best friend in the whole world would do that.

A deep breath left you, ready to be rid of this conversation topic. “Can I take a shower?”

His wide grin melted down to his signature smug smirk once again. “In which wing?”

Sylus’s living situation was fucking ridiculous. Four bathrooms with showers, three of them with tubs. For, what, three people? You shake your head in disbelief as he leads you to a guest room. Just as lavish as the rest of the place, the first thing that stares back at you is the neatly made king sized bed. A leather futon sits across it, right next to an enormous closet. Before you can gawk at any other evidence of luxury in the room, he shuts the door behind you. Your gaze instinctively flies to the knob, the phantom click still ringing in your ears. Your shoulders hunch, posture stilling as you find yourself waiting for it— but the door remains unlocked. If Sylus noticed, he gave you the grace of ignoring it and deciding he teased you enough for now. He opens the closet, unhooking a hanger from inside, draping a plush back bathrobe from it. “This should fit you.” You ran your hands along the fluffy material, unable to stop touching it. “And could I wash my clothes after-“

“I will.” He assures you with an interruption. “Leave them outside the door. I’ll find something laying around for you to change into so you don’t have to wait for them to dry.” You nodded, not expecting this level of consideration from him. It brings an irritating, fond heat to your cheeks. “Right. Thank you.”

“Just being a good host.” He smirks, opening the bathroom door. The bathroom was, of course, also fucking ridiculous. Dark marble walls, spotless black tile floors. A black Japanese bathtub next to the spacious shower stall. Woody, spicy potpourri wafted through the air from a bowl on the sink. He moves to shut the door, and you turn. “Um…” Swallow. “Is it okay to keep the door unlocked?” He frowned in confusion, and you quickly added, “It’s the steam. Too much in an enclosed space, I get a headache and I already have one, so I-“

“Okay.” He simply agrees, leaving you no room to over-explain and lie further. You’re almost taken aback with the ease he’s treating you with, but if you think about it, he’s always just accepted. He may question once or twice, but always nods his head without judgment.

You showered all of the blood and grime off your skin, but the reminder of Skyhaven clung under your fingernails no matter how much you scrubbed. It was something you had been pushing away from the forefront of your mind for weeks, almost a month now.

It’s not what you think it is, you remind yourself as you clench your fist, watching the hot water droplets roll off your knuckles. It’s Caleb. He was trying to protect me…

“No, we’re not doing this right now!” You mumbled aloud to yourself. Think, think, think of something else. You abruptly turned the valve to the wall, the water turning freezing cold. Your breathing seemed to slow down with the ice hitting your veins, and by the time you caught two chills, you stepped out and toweled off. The robe felt nice against your damp skin, the fuzz of it all absorbing the water droplets quickly. Opening the door, you see the clothes Sylus left for you in a neat pile: two items. A black satin button down with an “S” monogrammed into the breast pocket with golden embroidery, and grey basketball shorts. A dry snort found its way out of your nose. What a look.

You swam in them, of course, but in a cozy way. You folded the waistband of the shorts until they would aptly rest on your hips, and you didn’t mind the way the shirt’s sleeves hung past your fingers. The shirt smelled like him. Like his stupidly nice cologne, the familiar scent of spices and leather on the collar.

You let your exhausted body drive you to sleep.

The door is locked.

The eyes you used to seek comfort in refuse to soften.

You blindly take his sleeping pills.

The door is locked.

He pins you down on the sofa, next to a photo of the two of you in a frighteningly similar position, play-fighting and laughing.

He threatens to wrap a collar around your throat.

Your pleas fall on deaf ears.

The man in front of you is breathing, but he is long dead.

The door is locked.

Your heart drops you awake, out of breath and eyes watery.

You are not in your bed.

Where are you?

You push the covers off you before you could even remember, rushing to swing the door open. The force of the mahogany hitting the wall got the attention of your gracious host.

“Sweetie…” A deep voice rumbled up your spine. Sylus.

You’re with Sylus.

The pet name lacked all the familiar playful condescension, more of a brace, a concerned approach to a wild, wounded animal. “What’s wrong?”

You don’t answer at first, your clouded mind still assessing the situation. Your shoulders relax a fraction as you register your surroundings, Sylus’s base. You spent the night here after a hunt. You’re with Sylus, you want to be here, and the door was unlocked. Your grip on the doorknob loosens. Sylus slowly comes out from behind you and into your field of vision. “Sit.” He ushers you back into the room, sitting on the bed and patting the silk sheets. You slowly obey, perching on the bed with your knees hugged to your chest. A gentle expression paints his face, something you could’ve sworn you’ve never seen before. “I’m going to ask again.” He urges softly, slowly, the brisk command his tone usually carried melted away.

You can lie to anyone in your life. You could have said it was a bug in your blankets. A noise, he thought of an intruder. Even a nightmare about something else. You can lie to anyone in your life, except for the man in front of you who looks worried for the first time you’ve seen it. You can lie to anyone in your life, except for the man who seems to know your very soul despite only knowing you for a handful of months.

You don’t even try, clenching your fists so tight you’re sure your fingernails would draw blood out of the meat of your palm.

“I can’t tell you…” You murmured, holding back the flood. “Because if I do, it becomes real.”

He frowned, his head tilting to the side slightly. He pushed a soft smile out of the corner of his mouth. “I won’t tell reality if you won’t, sweetheart.”

You exhaled out of your nose shortly, an amused puff of air followed by a sniffle. “No, I’m…it’s serious.”

“I know.” He sat back on his elbows, blanketing the atmosphere with a sense of leisure and ease. That was something you had to admit he was good at. “I’ve noticed.”

You turn to him. “What?”

“You checked the pills I gave you.” He started. “I thought that was a one off, maybe you being extra careful, but then you announced you were gonna shower with the door unlocked-“

You scoffed shakily. “Okay, I didn’t announce-“

“The point is…” He interrupted. “You’ve been…off tonight.”

You don’t know how to answer. You know that at this point, if you open your mouth, the tears will start free falling.

“You don’t have to explain.” Fuck him for always reading your mind. “But you just need to tell me you’re alright. No guest feels unsafe under this roof.”

“It’s not you.” You assure shakily, resting your chin on your knees. “It’s…a long story.”

He nodded, accepting again. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”

“Um…” You suck in a breath through your nose. Here we go. The tube of toothpaste is squeezed. Your voice is slow, measured as you continue. “Remember about three weeks ago I went to Skyhaven?”

You began to unload. From the top. He knew of the explosion, the one you wrongfully blamed him for. The reminder of that moment brings a flash of mortified heat to your cheeks, expecting him to bring it up. You pause for it, the tease, the coy ‘Yes, kitten, I’m so bad,’ but it doesn’t come. His eyes just pave a delicate path down your face, waiting for you to continue. You watch them widen slightly when you tell him your childhood best friend survived, and that you found him up there. Your words shake and choke in your throat when you get to the next part, tears pricking the back of your eyes. You squeeze them shut, and feel a feather-light weight on your hand; his covering yours. A soft affirmation, a silent I’ve got you. The action is so tender, it pushes even more tears to your waterline. You purse your trembling lips at the gentleness of it all, the opposite of the force you two exuded over one another when you first met. You shoot him point blank in the chest, and he holds your hand like it’s precious gold.

“Sweetie…” He looks at you as if the sight of your face twisted in tears makes him violently ache. “Don’t cry.”

Which of course, makes you cry more. He closes the distance between you within a second, pulling you into his side. “I’m trying not to.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” He whispers gently, rubbing his thumb over your bare shoulder, the collar of his shirt hanging off of you. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

It takes a few minutes to gather the words, because how exactly do you say, I think my best friend held me hostage in his home and slipped me pills but I think it’s not really him based on zero evidence?

His thumb stopped its soothing rhythm. “He what?”

You cringe and stammer. You feel caught, for some irrational reason. “I-I know what it sounds like, but-”

“No.” He shook his head, his tone still soft but firm. “No, you don’t have to protect him.” He has to bite back the snarl in his voice, fight to keep his words gentle. “Not after he does this…” He wipes a tear from your cheek, his fingers lingering on the skin for a moment. “Not after he does this to you.” His voice shakes alongside yours, for different reasons. “You don’t need to tell me anything more, but you don’t protect him, either.”

You look up at him, drawing in a deep breath. It makes you realize that’s exactly what you’ve been doing all this time, refusing to acknowledge it. While he was ruining you, you were protecting his memory. At the same time, though, what you know about the professor and Caleb’s abnormal behavior flipping like a switch makes you doubt it was fully him that did this to you. Even if it wasn’t, it doesn’t mean it didn’t affect you so deeply that you’re crying into the arms of the person you’d least expect. You watch his fists clench. “He didn’t…” A hesitation. “He didn’t touch you, did he?”

You vehemently shake your head and you could hear a small breath of relief. “It wasn’t like that.” You go to explain again, to defend him, but stop yourself. “It was so scary.” He breathes a deep sigh, tightening his arms around you.

“I know.” He whispers. “I know, sweet girl, but you were brave.”

You scoff tearfully. “No I wasn’t.”

“You’re here.” He pointed out, brushing his hand through your hair. “Not there. I know your prowess firsthand.”

A pathetic half-laugh exits your chest, followed by more sobs. He holds you even tighter as you cling to his grounding familiarity. He does that for as long as you need it, waiting patiently as he assures you you did the right thing, that you’re safe with him, that he could walk into Linkon and take you home right now, bounty be damned; whatever it is you need to hear.

“I’ve got you.” He whispers into your hair. Your head is atop his chest, laying down now. Your eyes are closed, and he can tell you’ve cried yourself to sleep. “Always have. Always will.”

When your breaths turn steady, he moves slightly to get his phone from his pocket. One hand on your back, the other on the keyboard, he types a message to Luke and Kieran.

Farspace Fleet Colonel. Lives in Skyhaven. Name’s caleb. Need any and all information there is to know ASAP.

Another message.

Boss Lady will not let you hurt him, as much as I am dreaming the different ways I could make him hurt right now. Do not go after him. Just watch.

Two pairs of thumbs up from the twins follow the message, not needing any further instruction or explanation. He locks his phone and leans his head against the pillow, giving you a soft kiss on the forehead. It’s quiet now, the only sound surrounding him are your soft breaths and Mephisto’s caws into the night as he suddenly takes a trip up north.

[regardtheinnocent]

Ororon x male reader who is delighted with his little ears and wings?? This emo boy is too cute, and what if reader abuses his cute features during sex.I am sure that he will blush a lot from such attention! I love him too much. 😔

Contains: Dom!GN!Reader, Sub!Ororon, Lots of position changing 😅, Teasing (character receiving), Penetration (character receiving), reader has a cock/strap on, Ororon being a cutie pie, safeword exists but isn't referenced *note: I love him too, I fear that I'm a sucker for emo & bat characters haha.

Your hands drift to fondle Ororon's soft ears as they often do. You gently press your thumb, pointer and middle fingers together and begin rubbing them, finding it amusing that the poor farmer instantly quieted down.

"These ears of your's are sooo soft, love. I could pet them all day." You hum to him, choosing to ignore the current predicament that you were both in.

What was said predicament?

Well, you were buried deep in the poor thing, much too deep— he might add. You had him all sprawled out on your bed, his marked up and shaking thighs thrown over your shoulders.

Ororon swore his eyes rolled back slightly when you leaned forward to get a better angle to touch his ears. The sudden shift in movement made you press so much deeper, your tip felt like it was bullying his prostate at this point.

A weak squeal left the man's lips he tried his very best to shy away from your touch.

Not that you let him, of course.

No, you just had to move one of your hands down to his waist and hold him still. Fuck, Ororon was seeing stars.

"Mm.. God, pl—please [Name], you don't need to touch— Ah! them.." The farmer slurred back as he tried to keep his eyes open as best he could.

"Too deep— hngh ugh.." Ororon whined as you moved yet again. It was cute that the little bat was acting so shy all of a sudden.

Though, Ororon's wings flapped uselessly at his sides, prompting you to move your hand from his waist to hold onto one of them.

Gently, naturally. You didn't want to hurt him, after all.

"Its so hard not to though, sweetheart. And these wings that are fluttering around are just too tempting.." You reply as a slight smirk adorns your lips.

Ororon just shakes his head as he attempts at keeping his embarrassingly needy moans at bay. Which he fails at.

Then, you begin to move your hips again. You pull out halfway before pushing back in, watching as your baby goes cross eyed in an instant.

"You've been too chatty, angel. I must not be doing my job good enough, hmm?" You tease as Ororon manages to weakly kick at your back with his heels.

It was involuntary, really. He was just too stimulated and didn't know what to do.

When you left his ears alone for a moment, the farmer breathed a sigh of relief— only for said breath to turn into a squeal when you take his legs in your hands and fold him in half.

Though, once you've got him bent nicely, you only bother to use a single hand to hold both of his calves together.

You were doing an amazing job at bullying the poor thing with your body, watching him fall apart as you grabbed one of his wings.

"Nooo— Hnghh- ah! S'too muchh..." Ororon slurs out in a whiny voice as his mind melted more and more.

You gave his bat wing a gentle tug in response. You, of course, make sure not to be too rough when doing so.

Though, it was rough enough for the farmer to arch his back as cum shot out of his cock without warning. He let out his loudest squeal yet, which was really quite embarrassing in pitch.

Oh... his face is so pretty when he comes. It always is.

You paused for a moment, before a nice smile spread across your face. You weren't done with Ororon yet, not when you'd just made him finish from a wing tug. Oh no no no.

Instead, you flip him on his tummy for easier access to his pretty wings.

"Whu— [Name]-! I just caAAH—" You interrupt your darling mid sentence by promptly gripping both of his wings by the base and using them for leverage to fuck back into his hole.

All poor Ororon can do is claw and grab at the pillows and sheets in a desperate but vain attempt to ground himself.

You snap your hips forward over and over again as you feel your lover tighten around you. Its like he wants to keep you inside, how adorable.

Ororon can feel the burn of overstimulation settling in quite quickly, after all you're fucking him like an animal.

Though, he can only sob into the pillows as he feels the coil in his tummy tighten again, getting ready to snap again.

"Ple— Please!" Ororon all but begs as his cock rubs against the sheets, giving him more feelings that he can't handle.

"You can cum again, can't you, baby? Yeah.. you can do it." You coo back in a jarringly soothing voice, one that made the poor thing want to relax despite everything.

So he simply nods into the pillows as you continue plowing him from behind, and eventually, he shoots another load right against the previously soiled sheets.

"Goodd boy..." You groan as you tug on his wings, getting him to let out a few more spirts of cum before finally letting him rest.

You pull out slowly and your hands switch to tenderly rubbing over the bases of the farmer's wings, easing the soreness that would likely form in the coming hours.

"You did so good for me." You murmur and Ororon responds with a weak purr.

[varesai]

GIRL DAD OR BOY DAD? - sunday, boothill x reader

- or more clearly, to what gender would they want to have more, and general headcannons of them as papas ☺️

- brainrot brainrot brainrot BRAINROT AHHH... i love these guys and i can do a part 2 for others later but godd theres absolutely not enough dad stuff for these men (especially sunday... if there is its all yandere) so never fear novas here! ahem anyways enjoy

- warnings none! pure fluff!!! wc 711

Sunday is so a girl and boy dad.

Reason why I say this is because he likely needs an heir to take over his position when he gets too old to do so, but he also wants a baby girl he can spoil as well.

Don’t worry! He loves both of his kids the same! They’re the greatest things that have probably ever happened to him and he cherishes them with his whole life. He thanks the stars above every single day for the opportunity he received to be a father to multiple beautiful children, and thanks you for granting him the chance. 

Dunno, but I could see this man wanting a handful of kids. He wants at least one girl and at least one boy, but I could see him shooting for 3-4. Will he be around to care for them? Not all the time, but he tries his hardest (and he definitely has the resources to care for that many).

Considering they’re half halovian and half human, they look pretty much just like their father! Some have your eyes, but they all have his hair. His hair and his gorgeous wings. They have your features though, such as your face, body type, etc.

His favorite part of the day is when he gets to collapse on your shared bed, his kiddos following behind him to cuddle their dad, and most of the time you all fall asleep together. Normally, you wake up just you and him because he’s good about putting them in their own bed once they fall asleep.

Once his kids get older, he’ll teach his son(s) combat and good form. He wants them to protect, and wants to raise them to be strong and independent. With his daughter(s), if they ask to be taught combat, then he won’t see much of an issue with it. He also wants to teach them independence, but in a more subtle form. 

Just expect that his children as teenagers are going to be the prettiest kids around holy shit. They’re obviously enrolled in a private school due to their fathers high status but they always come home and list the compliments they’ve received that day. Thankfully you two have raised them well enough for them to realize that it’ll be bad if all of these get to their head and stroke their ego too hard…

Supportive father asf! All I’ve gotta say here

Don’t play Boothill is SO a girl dad hello have you met the man

He’s so excited when his little girl is born ahh he’s always dreamed of being a father to a girl and his dream has officially come true!!

Obviously, if you had a boy, he’d love him the same. He just wants children of his own tbh lol

His daughter knows western culture fresh out of the womb my friend. It’s like she was born for little cowboy boots and the cutest little cowboy hat. She’s even got a western name, he brought it up and you liked it, so the name you two settled on was Cassidy.

She has his hair! It’s absolutely gorgeous once it starts coming in- a pearly white color with little black streaks stemming from the roots. She has your eyes and your face, and his slimmer body type (before he was turned into a cyborg. This isn’t canon I actually have no clue what he looked like pre cyborgification lmao).

Oh lord, your daughter is so spoiled. On every mission he goes on he’s always bringing something back for her. It could be a super fancy necklace or even just a little trinket he picked up from a street vendor, but she has a whole shelf full of the things her daddy gives her.

She thinks it’s so cool he has a metal body. She asks about it alot but she’s really fascinated with it tbh. She likes to call it “daddy’s special feature!” and he always melts to that sentence gosh

He probably teaches his daughter how to use a gun when she gets older. He, similar to Sunday, wants his daughter to learn self defense tactics and learn how to fend for herself when necessary.

She totally has his accent. Change my mind period.

[redvexillum]

A/N: Kit, how dare you issue a challenge? I'mma come over and cough all over.... your keyboard! That's right! Biological warfare baby! Jks. I can't get out of my bed, lol.

SUMMARY: Every year on Christmas Eve, you meet Lucifer, your mentor. He regales you with tales from down below, and despite the passing years, you realize that your love for him has never faded.

TAGS/WARNINGS:  f!reader, soft sex, p in v, angel!reader, naive!reader, virgin!reader, first time reader, touchstarved!lucifer, cunnilingus, fingering

Laughter drifted like silken ribbons through the crisp evening air, weaving its way seamlessly into the chorus of crackling firewood and the quiet hum of the night. Above, the stars gleamed with a fractured beauty, like shattered jewels scattered across the inky sky. Each flicker was a ghost of light from stars long gone, their brilliance enduring even after their death—a poignant reminder of their fragility and their fleeting splendour of existence. 

The fire before you burned steady, casting warm golden halos against the encroaching chill. The scent of smoke mingled with the earthy aroma of wood, laced faintly with a sweetness that teased the edges of memory. Enveloped in the soft cocoon of your snowy white wings, you dared a glance at the figure across from you. 

Lucifer. 

He was once your mentor, your guide into the delicate art of creation—the delicate skill of weaving light, life, and beauty into existence. Even now, after his fall, he sat there with the same ethereal glow, though tarnished in the eyes of Heaven. His rosy cheeks, flushed as though kissed by frost, and his gentle smile felt like the warmth of a distant sun. 

Yet, the whispers of his past lingered like shadows. The Seraphs spoke in riddles, never fully divulging the sin that led to his fall. He had become the emblem of rebellion, the cautionary tale told to every fledgling angel. To humanity and the choir of angels, he was the harbinger of evil and sin. 

But to you? 

He was still him. 

“Want a s’more?” His voice broke the spell of your thoughts, warm and smooth, carrying a hint of playful curiosity. He held out the human treat, the graham crackers precariously balanced between fingers that had once wielded the glory of celestial creation. 

You nodded, reaching eagerly for the offering. At the first bite, a delightful medley of flavours melted onto your tongue—the silk of chocolate, the airy sweetness of marshmallow, and the crisp crunch of graham crackers. Your eyes lit up with unabashed delight. 

“Mmm!” you hummed, your grin radiant as you turned to him. 

Lucifer chuckled, his laughter low and rich, like a song from a time you thought you’d forgotten. He leaned back, busying himself with crafting another treat, his motions unhurried and precise. Around you, colourful lights danced on strings, their cheerful glow a stark contrast to the quiet of the winter night. 

You hadn’t planned to see him again after that fateful chance encounter in the human realm. Yet here you were, meeting him each year on Christmas Eve, reliving fragments of a bond that time had refused to sever. 

Your gaze drifted to his profile, illuminated by the soft amber light. There was something mesmerizing about the way his hair caught the glow, the way his sharp features softened in the firelight. 

The chill of the night was no match for the flush warming your cheeks. You didn’t mean to feel this way, to let your thoughts spiral into forbidden territory. 

He was your mentor. 

Your guide.

Your… 

But the space between respect and yearning had blurred, year after year, as comfort gave way to an ache you couldn’t ignore. You told yourself it was admiration. 

That it had to be. 

“So,” Lucifer’s voice stirred you from your reverie, casual yet tinged with something unreadable. “How are things up there?” His words held an edge of hesitance, his unnatural crimson eyes flitting to meet yours briefly before darting away. 

Your breath caught as your gaze fell to the faint glint of a golden band on his fourth finger. A thousand questions stirred in your chest, each one more painful than the last. 

And yet, you smiled. 

You always smiled for him. 

Blinking back the twisting discomfort in your stomach, you forced a bright smile to your lips, wide enough to mask the unease threatening to spill over. “Oh, you know, same old, same old,” you sighed theatrically, shrugging your shoulders in an exaggerated gesture. “It’s been ages since anyone’s come up with anything truly inspired. No creativity, no innovation… just endless routine.” 

Your gaze flickered nervously to Lucifer, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw his face light up—golden hues flushing his cheeks, a grin spreading wide and utterly unguarded across his face. 

“Well, isn’t that just typical!” he exclaimed, effortlessly crossing his legs and setting the fourth s’more neatly on the plate beside him. His movements were so quick and precise you barely caught them. “Those old coots upstairs wouldn’t recognize genius if it smacked them right in their self-righteous halos!” 

A giggle slipped from you, muffled only slightly by the hand you pressed to your mouth. It was still enough to escape, carrying the sound of bubbling joy across the air. His audacity—speaking so brazenly about the elders of Heaven—never failed to amuse you. But wasn’t that just one of the reasons why you… why you… 

Your chest tightened, a bittersweet ache swelling inside you. You didn’t want this moment to end. You longed for the days when you could see him whenever you pleased, like you had in those ancient, untarnished eons. 

Your wings puffed up instinctively, a reflexive motion that startled Lucifer enough to make him flinch. “Oh! S-sorry!” you stammered, cringing at the sudden disruption. “I just… remembered something!” 

With a renewed determination, you reached into your pocket, your fingers brushing against smooth rubber. When you pulled it free, your smile grew brighter, almost trembling with anticipation. You held it out to him with both hands. 

Lucifer’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. He blinked once, then again, his gaze drifting from the object in your hands to your face. His lips, usually quick to curve into a grin, remained frozen in place. 

A flicker of nervousness gnawed at your resolve, but you clung to your bright expression, even as it faltered just slightly. “I-I heard that tomorrow is a day when people exchange gifts and spend time together,” you began hesitantly, heat crawling up your neck to bloom across your cheeks. “And, well… you once mentioned you liked ducks, so… I made this for you.” 

The small object in your hands was a pink rubber duck, its shimmering ruby eyes catching the firelight. Tiny white wings adorned its back, delicately crafted and fluffy to the touch. It wasn’t much, but it was something you’d poured your heart into—something that reminded you of the first time Lucifer had taught you the joy of creating. You still remembered the wooden duck he had given you all those years ago, a keepsake of simpler times. 

“If you squeeze it here,” you demonstrated, giving the duck a gentle press. The tiny beak opened, letting out a soft, endearing quack, and the little wings began to flap, the duck hovering just slightly above your palm. 

Your heart pounded as you looked up at him, hope filling your eyes. Surely, he’d see how much this meant. 

For a moment, Lucifer’s expression was unreadable, his blank stare heavy and unnerving. But then, his lips curved into a wide, mischievous grin. “Oh, wow!” he drawled, plucking the duck from your hands and turning it over to examine it closely. “You’ve really improved! Your craftsmanship is getting impressive.” 

His words washed over you, sending a pleasant warmth trickling down your spine. “Y-you think so?” you asked, your voice tinged with shy pride as you leaned in slightly, desperate to bask in the glow of his approval. 

He glanced at you then, and for a moment, his eyes softened, their sharp edges melting into something infinitely more tender. His vibrant red eyes felt foreign, a reminder of all he had become, yet there was a piece of the mentor you once knew. No matter how he had changed, Lucifer still held an unshakable place in your heart. 

And in this quiet moment, you realized… perhaps he always would. 

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice low, threaded with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. His eyes softened, a flicker of vulnerability shimmering within their depths like the faintest ember of a long-forgotten fire. His hand hovered, trembling slightly, mere inches from your cheek, as if he yearned to touch you but couldn’t bring himself to close the distance. “You don’t have to indulge this old fool every year, you know.” 

Your head tilted slightly, confusion knitting your brows. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile moment. 

Lucifer sighed deeply, the sound heavy with unspoken words. His hand dropped back into his lap, his fingers curling protectively around the small gift you had made for him. His gaze followed, falling to the duck in his hand as if it held all the answers he couldn’t find. 

“I…” He hesitated, his lips pressing together before he let out a quiet, frustrated breath. His eyes darted to the side, then back to the fire, searching for the courage to continue. “I’ve been reminiscing. About my past—about our past. And it’s been wonderful to share it with you again, but—” 

Your chest tightened painfully, the weight of his unfinished words squeezing the air from your lungs. You didn’t want to hear it. Whatever he was about to say, it would break something inside you, something you weren’t ready to lose. 

Before you could think better of it, you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. 

His shoulders jerked, startled, and his head whipped toward you, wide-eyed and unguarded. Your lips quirked into a nervous smile, and with a forced, breathless giggle, you tried to brush it off. “I took my gift from you, Lucifer!” you declared, your tone falsely cheerful. Your hands wrung together in your lap, betraying the storm of nerves churning inside you, and your heart pounded so loudly it drowned out the crackle of the fire. 

“A k-kiss,” you stammered, heat flooding your cheeks. “That’s… what I wanted.” 

It was innocent enough, wasn’t it? You had seen Seraphim offer kisses to their students in gestures of affection and encouragement. Surely, this wasn’t so different. 

Right? 

Lucifer blinked, slowly, as if processing your words. Then, a quiet “oh” escaped his lips, soft and unsure. He glanced at your face, his expression unreadable for a heartbeat that stretched into eternity. 

“I can do that,” he said at last, his voice a whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. 

He carefully placed the duck aside, tucking it safely into his pocket before leaning closer. When his lips met yours, it was gentle at first, barely a touch, but the softness of his mouth stole the air from your lungs. Your skin tingled where he brushed against you, sparking sensations that raced through your body like wildfire. 

The kiss deepened, and your hands instinctively rose, pressing against the lapels of his coat as you leaned into him. Your eyes fluttered shut, the world around you dissolving into the warmth of him, the faint scent of smoke and something earthy mingling with his own intoxicating presence. 

The quiet crackle of the fire mingled with the faint sounds of your lips meeting his. He pulled back slightly, just enough for your breaths to mingle, and his eyes caught yours. The red of his irises glowed softly, the colour unfamiliar yet achingly fitting for him. It was a shade you had never seen in Heaven, and yet it felt as though it had always belonged to him. 

“I miss these wings,” Lucifer murmured, his lips brushing against yours with every word. 

Before you could respond, his hand moved behind you, fingers grazing the base of your wings where they met your back. His touch was light, reverent, but the sensation that followed was anything but gentle. 

“Ah!” you gasped, a sharp cry escaping your lips as a surge of pleasure coursed through you, so intense it left you trembling. Your body gave out, collapsing against his chest as heat flooded your veins, setting every nerve alight. 

The sensations rippled through you in waves, overwhelming and indescribable. You buried your face against him, your breath ragged as you tried to steady yourself. It felt so good—too good, almost, but you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. 

“Lucifer,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but his name on your lips felt like a sinful plea.

The moment your gaze met his, Lucifer claimed your lips again, his kiss deeper, more fervent than before. His tongue brushed against your lips, coaxing them apart with a temptation as sweet as it was forbidden. Each movement of his mouth sent shivers down your spine, and the heat pooling low in your belly intensified, an ache that demanded more. His hands roamed over you, skilled and deliberate, igniting sparks that left you breathless. Shame prickled at the edge of your thoughts, but it was drowned out by the wet, warm sensation pooling between your thighs. 

Your breath came in ragged gasps, mingling with the rustle of fabric and the faint crackle of the fire. His movements were fluid yet insistent as he guided you down onto the soft blanket beneath you. Lucifer hovered above, his arms caging you in, as if shielding you from the judgmental eyes of the Heavens above. 

In the firelight, his golden hair glowed, its brilliance rivalling the stars you had spent so many nights admiring. It was brighter than the sun, and yet infinitely more inviting. 

“My sweet angel,” he murmured, his voice trembling as though the words pained him. The nickname, long forgotten in the years since his fall, struck something deep within you, a chord of bittersweet memory. “Tell me to stop,” he pleaded, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath warm and unsteady against your skin. “We should… stop.” 

The word echoed in your mind—stop. But it felt so foreign, so wrong. You didn’t want to stop. You didn’t want to push him away, not now, not ever. His touch, his presence, the way he made you feel—it was all-consuming. You craved more. 

Your lips parted, and instead of telling him to stop, a soft plea escaped, barely audible yet filled with undeniable longing. A bashful smile curled at the corners of your lips, a silent answer to his hesitation. 

Lucifer shivered, his resolve faltering as his gaze searched yours. Then, he surrendered, dipping low to capture your lips once more. His hands moved over you, exploring with a reverence that made your heart ache. His touch ventured to places no one else had ever dared, yet there was no fear, no hesitation. With him, it felt right. 

Piece by piece, your clothes fell away, and his followed suit, each article shed like a layer of pretense until nothing remained but bare skin and shared warmth. The movements were slow, deliberate, almost ritualistic—a dance of devotion. The firelight caressed his form, and you found yourself mesmerized by the sight of him, by the way he looked at you as though you were the only thing that mattered in the universe. 

His lips trailed along your cheekbone, leaving a path of warmth in their wake, before finding the delicate curve of your neck. He pressed a kiss there, soft and lingering, and you felt him shudder, his breath trembling against your skin. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his hold on you tightening, as though he feared you might vanish. 

Your chest pressed against his, your bodies aligned, and a new sensation bloomed within you—a mix of anticipation and nervous excitement. The hard length of him throbbed against your core, every twitch synchronized with the rapid beat of his heart. The tip was warm, slick with your shared desire, a physical manifestation of the connection drawing you both closer. 

Your heart raced, not with fear, but with happiness—a profound joy that your first time sharing this sacred act would be with him. This was no mere moment of passion; it was something deeper, something eternal. An act of unity, of bonding, of love. Wasn’t it? You wondered, heart fluttering, if this meant he saw you as his equal, his soulmate. 

Did he love you? 

Lucifer’s voice broke the silence, hoarse and laden with conflict. “We should stop,” he murmured, his words catching as though they pained him to say. “I’m tainted… and you’re not. We should stop.” 

Yet even as he spoke, his arms clung to you with a desperation that belied his words. He held you as though you were his salvation, the one thing anchoring him in a world of chaos. His resolve was crumbling, his need laid bare before you. 

And you… you could not let him go. 

Not now.

Not ever.

Lucifer's voice was raw, tinged with a pain that gripped your heart. Though you couldn’t fully understand the depths of his torment, the need to soothe him overwhelmed you. Your fingers trailed tenderly through his golden hair, soft and warm under your touch. His muscles, taut with tension, gradually loosened, melting as he surrendered to your embrace. A sigh escaped his lips, quiet and vulnerable, followed by a low moan as his mouth pressed delicate, lingering kisses to your neck. Each touch sent shivers coursing through your body, his lips igniting sparks wherever they met your skin. 

It hit you then—why you returned to him, year after year, unable to stay away. This feeling, which had begun as a fragile seed, had blossomed into something wild and untamable. It was no longer just admiration or fondness—it was something much deeper. 

You loved him. 

The realization unfurled within you like a sunrise, pure and all-encompassing. Love, the most beautiful and sacred of emotions, a gift from the heavens themselves. It was love that had drawn you to Lucifer, time and again. Love that refused to let you abandon him, even in his fall. He had taught you about creation, about beauty, and now, he had taught you the most profound truth of all—the overwhelming power of love. 

Emboldened by the thought, you cupped his face, tilting his head upward. Your lips found his in small, feather-light kisses, each accompanied by a soft giggle of uncontainable joy. His torment, etched so deeply into his features, began to fade, replaced by a quiet resignation. His lips curled into a gentle smile, one that reached his eyes for the first time in eons. 

Then he kissed you again, deeply, a kiss that stole the air from your lungs and set your body alight. His tongue teased the seam of your lips, coaxing them apart, and you let him in, surrendering to the heat of his passion. His moan vibrated through you, a sound so primal and raw it sent a shiver down your spine. 

His body pressed against yours, his arousal hot and throbbing against your core. The tip of him pressed gently, insistently, against your entrance, the weight of his desire palpable. You widened your thighs instinctively, your breath hitching as anticipation gripped you. 

"I'll be gentle," he whispered, his voice a low promise that resonated through every fibre of your being. 

You nodded, your trust in him absolute, your heart pounding with a mix of trepidation and excitement. Slowly, he began to press into you, the sensation foreign yet electrifying. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as he stretched you, your body adjusting to the slow, deliberate intrusion. 

“Ah,” you moaned, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as he rolled his hips, pulling back before pressing forward again. Each thrust brought him deeper, filling you inch by inch. The rhythm was deliberate, reverent, as though he sought to worship every part of you. The sounds of your bodies meeting—the wet, slick noise of his movements, the ragged breaths, the whispered gasps—filled the air, a melody of intimacy. 

"That's right," he murmured, his voice thick with praise and desire. "You're doing so well, my sweet angel." 

Lucifer groaned as he buried himself deeper, his brows knitting together in concentration. You felt the burn of his entry give way to a blossoming pleasure, waves of heat radiating from where your bodies were joined. 

“Ah, my angel,” he groaned, his voice trembling. “So tight... so perfect.” 

He thrust deeper still, his pace steady and unrelenting. The fullness was overwhelming, every nerve alight with sensation. His hand slid around your back, fingers finding the base of your wings. When he touched you there, a jolt of pleasure shot through you, your walls tightening around him involuntarily. 

The sensation built and built, pain dissolving into pure, unadulterated bliss as he moved within you. Each roll of his hips brought you closer to something transcendent, a feeling so overwhelming it consumed you completely. And at that moment, with Lucifer holding you, filling you, there was no fall, no sin—only love.

Lucifer’s moan was low and guttural as he sank fully into you, his hips pressing flush against yours. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of heat and fullness that left your body trembling as it tried to accommodate him. 

“Ah… ah… L-Luci,” you whimpered, your voice catching on every gasp as you clenched tightly around him. Your walls fluttered, struggling to adjust to his size, the stretch both foreign and intoxicating. Above you, Lucifer’s torso rose, his head tilted back as he groaned, savouring the tightness of your untouched core. 

“I’m going to move,” he murmured, his voice soft and trembling, laced with restraint. His hand cradled your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had slipped free. The tenderness in his gaze made your chest ache, grounding you amidst the swirling chaos of sensation. “Tell me if it’s too much, alright?” 

You nodded, your smile wobbly but trusting. 

Slowly, he began to withdraw, and a sharp whimper escaped your lips as the loss of him left you achingly empty. But then, he pressed forward again, filling you completely, his heat and presence igniting something raw within you. His movements were careful, deliberate, as he set a rhythm, his cock throbbing against your walls as if revelling in your embrace. 

Each glide of him inside you was smoother, more certain, and his pace gradually quickened. Your breaths intertwined, the quiet space filled with the sounds of your union—ragged gasps, soft moans, and the rhythmic sound of your bodies meeting. 

“You’re so beautiful, my sweet angel,” he whispered, his voice a reverent murmur that made your heart flutter. His hips rolled in slow, indulgent circles, eliciting a cry of pleasure as he drove deeper into you. “You feel incredible,” he sighed, his words like a balm to your overwhelmed senses. 

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a fervent kiss. His tongue explored you with unrestrained hunger, mapping every corner of your mouth and drawing out muffled moans with every stroke. His lips left trails of fire on your skin, igniting every nerve he touched. 

“I’m close,” he rasped against your lips, his thrusts becoming erratic, his control fraying as he chased his release. 

You could barely form words, your body spiralling higher with every movement. “I want you to… feel good… Luci,” you managed, your voice breaking on a high-pitched keen as the coil in your core wound tighter and tighter, ready to snap. 

Your whispered plea undid him. With a final thrust, his body tensed, and a deep groan escaped him as he spilled into you. The warmth of his release filled you, each pulse of him deep within making you shudder. He moaned softly, his hips rocking gently as he pressed as far as he could, emptying every drop into you. 

As he stilled, his breaths uneven, he opened his eyes to meet yours. Slowly, carefully, he withdrew, and a shiver ran through you as his warmth began to escape. But before you could mourn the loss, his fingers slid inside, filling you once more. 

“Ah!” you cried out, your back arching as the sudden intrusion sent a jolt of pleasure through you. His fingers curled, seeking and finding a spot deep within that made your vision blur. Your thighs trembled uncontrollably, your body surrendering completely to the unexpected waves of ecstasy crashing over you. 

“Good,” Lucifer murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction as he watched you unravel beneath him, your pleasure becoming his own reward. 

"That's right, let go, my dear," Lucifer murmured, his voice a velvet caress against your senses. The wet, lewd sounds of his fingers delving into your heat filled the space between you, the mixture of his release and your arousal slicking every motion. His fingers curled inside you, finding that spot that made you see stars, and your body clenched around him, desperate for more. 

“Ah… ah, Luci!” you cried, your voice trembling with raw need as the coil in your core wound tighter, ready to snap. The tension in your body built with every stroke of his fingers, every graze of his touch, until a sudden, warm pressure pressed against your sensitive nub. The contact sent a jolt of pure, searing pleasure through you, pulling a broken cry from your lips. 

Lucifer’s lips found your clit, his tongue flicking against the swollen bundle of nerves before he drew it into his mouth, suckling gently. The sensation was electric, each stroke of his fingers inside you timed perfectly with the pull of his lips. The sound of him—wet, desperate, and unrelenting—filled your ears, and the world around you blurred into nothing but him. 

Your body arched off the blanket, a keening moan escaping you as your hips pushed forward, seeking more. You were helpless against the onslaught of sensations, his tongue and fingers working in tandem to drive you higher and higher until you shattered completely. 

White-hot pleasure surged through you, a blinding wave of ecstasy that left you breathless. Your walls clamped around his fingers, spasming with the force of your orgasm as your cries filled the air. Lucifer didn’t stop—his fingers moved slowly, deliberately, while his tongue lavished your oversensitive clit with gentle, teasing licks, drawing out every last tremor of bliss. 

When the pleasure finally ebbed, leaving you trembling and spent, you collapsed back onto the blanket, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Your cheeks flushed, your lips parted in a dazed smile as you looked down at him. 

Lucifer raised his head, his lips glistening, and a small smile graced his face. But something in his eyes gave you pause—a shadow of sadness that dulled the light you adored. His gaze lingered on you, tender yet heavy, as though he was holding back something you couldn’t see. 

You reached for him, brushing your fingers along his cheek, your smile faltering as you whispered, “Luci… what’s wrong?” 

Lucifer gathered you close, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that belied his strength. His fingers threaded through your hair, stroking it gently, while his lips pressed soft, reverent kisses to your temple, your forehead, the crown of your head. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, the weight of those words sinking deep into your chest. 

Your eyelids fluttered, the haze of exhaustion clouding your mind. “What for?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You nestled against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing, relishing in the warmth that seeped into your skin. 

“For not being enough,” he began, his lips brushing against your hair. “For falling,” another kiss, this time on your temple. “For leaving you,” his voice cracked, and he kissed you again, a lingering touch on your cheek. “For disappointing everyone.” His lips trembled as they grazed your forehead once more. “For…” 

The words faltered, and you tilted your head, looking up at him. The pain etched into his features pierced your heart, but you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “Did you know?” you began softly, the words coming from a place of vulnerability. “I look forward to seeing you every year. I look forward to hearing the stories about your daughter, to just… being with you.” 

To you. 

He was enough. 

Always. 

His arms tightened around you, his body trembling slightly as though your words unravelled something deep within him. You took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of what you wanted to say, the unspoken truth that had been blooming in your heart. “I… I—” 

But the words caught in your throat, your courage faltering. Did he feel the same? Angels didn’t share this kind of intimacy lightly; it was an act of deep love, wasn’t it? Surely, Lucifer felt it too. 

He leaned back slightly, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. “We should rest tonight, my sweet angel,” he said gently, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. 

You hesitated but nodded, allowing him to conjure a tent with a wave of his hand. The interior was illuminated by strings of delicate fairy lights, their warm glow casting a soft, ethereal ambience. 

“It’s like our own personal stars!” you exclaimed, the childlike wonder in your voice cutting through the heavy atmosphere. 

But Lucifer said nothing, his silence wrapping around the space between you like a fragile thread. You told yourself he was tired, that the weight of the day had worn him down. Still, a small, nagging fear nestled in your chest. 

However, later in the dead of night, you stirred faintly when you felt a hand resting lightly on your head. You kept your eyes shut, your breathing steady as you waited, your heart pounding. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his voice cracking as though the words themselves were too heavy to bear. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, like a prayer seeking forgiveness. “You belong in Heaven, with the stars, not entangled with a devil like me.” 

Your breath hitched, but you remained still, every fibre of your being straining to hear more. You wanted to open your eyes, to reach out and tell him he was wrong, that you didn’t care, but something held you back. Deep down, you already knew, didn’t you? 

You were the one who clung to hope, who had dared to declare love where it was forbidden. You were the one who dreamed of a union that defied the heavens and the depths. And yet, now, all you could do was lie there, caught between the truth you feared and the love you couldn’t bear to lose. 

You closed your eyes, sealing them shut like you had sealed away every truth you didn’t want to face. The truth that Lucifer had fallen, that his place was no longer beside you, and that a future together was a dream as fleeting as stardust. You closed your eyes against the inevitable, against the knowledge that this fragile connection had always been temporary. 

You closed your eyes because as an angel, hope was all you had—and even that, you realized now, had been a fool's solace. 

Tears threatened but did not fall, held at bay by sheer will as you lay there, motionless. You heard the soft rustle of the tent flaps, the faint sound of him leaving, and then the crushing silence as his presence disappeared. The space he left behind felt cavernous, the absence of his warmth like an icy void. 

You didn’t know how long you remained there, curled beneath the blanket that still faintly carried his scent. The false stars above twinkled on, uncaring, mocking. Slowly, you sat up, the first tear slipping down your cheek like a crack in the dam. Then another, and another, until the flood of grief began to escape in earnest. 

You crawled out of the tent, the night’s chill biting at your skin as you wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself. The fire outside had dimmed to embers, its light no longer warm, its joy snuffed out. On the plate lay the discarded remains of s’mores, cold and abandoned, their sweetness wasted. 

You turned your gaze to the sky, to the real stars. Another tear slipped down as you stared at their brilliance. 

You weren’t going to see Lucifer next year. 

Or the year after. 

You weren’t going to see him ever again. He wouldn’t meet you, wouldn’t look at you with that half-smile that never quite reached his eyes. The realization cuts you deep like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. 

More tears welled, spilling freely now as your throat tightened and your chest heaved. The stars blurred in your vision, but you kept looking, unable to tear your gaze away. They shone so brightly, their light a lingering echo of something long gone. A memory of existence clinging to the present, deceiving the dreamers and the hopeful into believing they were still there. 

A breath escaped you, shaky and shallow, followed by a sob that tore free like a scream trapped too long. 

Lucifer had been your mentor. He had shown you the wonder of creation, the beauty of ingenuity, the power of unrestrained possibility. 

But love? 

Perhaps he hadn’t taught you that after all. 

How could it have been love when you never truly had it to begin with? 

Your hands clutched the blanket tighter, your tears falling silently into the earth beneath you. The stars above continued their eternal dance, indifferent to your pain, as you sat there mourning the light you had lost—and the darkness it left behind. 

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[astralis-ortus]

it feels impossible (it's not impossible)

✱ bestfriend!bc × gn!reader

— 'cause you are the one i was meant to find.

w.count → 2k genre → romcom, fluff warnings → minor cussing (as per usual, heh), chan refered to as chris a.n → i'm usually not the type to write this long simply because i'm easily distracted and have the tendency to abandon projects, but hey! this one prevails :] hopefully next time i can write even longer fics<3 ⋆ see masterlist

honestly, you thought you were going crazy when the same melody restarted on chris’ speaker for the nth time today. it’s not that the song is bad—you do actually love ‘rewrite the stars’. you’re a fan of the movie, much like chris is, but putting the song on loop? for hours a day? for weeks? your sense of fanship isn’t that strong, especially when the song’s been out in circulation for years now.

“you wanna hear a theory?”

your question easily turns chris’ focus away from the endless papers he had to grade by the end of the day and towards you, raising an eyebrow to the sudden break of silence. his eyes visibly twinkled, contemplating if he should entertain the idea of putting on his regular-26-year-old suit over the professional-high-school-teacher ones he’d been in for the past couple hours or so.

well, to be fair, chris hasn't even been focusing on the pages of essays he needed to check. not when his mind has been preoccupied with something—someone­—else.

“shoot,” he eventually replied with a lopsided smile etched on his lips—head cocked to the side when he finally decided to shut the screen of his decorated silver laptop, offering you his entire attention. “it better be funny or entertaining, considering i’m risking losing my hearing to my kids’ complaints for not returning their papers on time tomorrow.”

“oooh, pressure,” you mocked, a wide grin appearing on your face while you try to ignore the rush of tingles under your skin when you noticed the way chris referred to his students as ‘my kids’—something he’d always done and so do you, but somehow had a different effect on you as of recent. “believe me, it’s something fun,” you hummed with a shrug, mirroring chris as you set your laptop aside.

chris’ pair of charming dimples came into view upon your confident reply, fully immersed in the stage you’re setting up. fabric of his gray couch, one where you two had been slowly melting into for a few hours now, gently rustled when chris fixed his posture, less from lazing around and more into focusing on you and whatever nonsense he believed you were going to say. the glint in his eyes grew brighter by the second, both from anticipation and excitement.

“tell me.”

it felt like spring—when the flowers were in bloom, the breeze was blowing ever-so-gently against your warm cheeks, and the swarm of butterflies were surrounding you with its pairs of fluttering wings.

chris made you feel like spring.

“gee, tone down the excitement, mr. bahng,” you inadvertently shifted away, silently praying to whatever force ruling the universe that chris wasn’t aware of the way your heartbeat spiked to his playful grin. “don’t want to disappoint you there.”

”as if you could ever,” chris promptly refuted with a chuckle, chin resting on the palm of his hand. the way his playful gaze was directed right at you, framed by those loose curls of his, proved to cause your heart more problems than ease. “the ever-so-perfect you? a disappointment? really?”

”oh shut up,” you groaned, half wanting to wipe the cocky smirk off his face—or…?

”but then—if you say so, do tell me,” frown on your forehead instantly dissipates, replaced by a mirror of his lopsided grin when you figured you could turn the bullet right back at its owner,

“am i perfectly on point when i say you’re in love?”

despite the slight pang on your heart, you couldn’t help but giggle at the way his face fades into surprise, a shade of blush slowly creeping on the top of his cheekbones.

the topic of love was never really something you discussed with chris. sure, you two met each other in college where hormones were bursting through the roof, but neither you or chris was interested in dating anyone—you with your slowly budding crush on chris, and chris with… god-knows-what he’s interested in. you never pried, for the sake of not making things awkward. that's your norm, and how you’ve spent your last 7 years with chris.

you and chris remained friends, which at some point evolved into best friends (you now, by the hey-i’m-bored-at-2am-let’s-hang kind of standard), and somehow, you two happened to land a teaching job within the same district around the same time. chris went to teach a reputable high school in the area, while you pursue your dream of teaching kids. you hang out at each other’s place every other day, despite the time you spent together consists mostly of being nose-deep in your respective workload.

the topic of love still was something foreign—you wouldn’t deliberately bring it up other than around the occasions when wedding invites stopped by yours or chris’ doorstep.

maybe, it’s time to change that.

”…huh?”

chris is thoroughly perplexed.

”oh come on, don’t even try to lie,” with a smile decorated with victory, you finally teased the man across. “it’s all written on your face, you know,” you continued, fingers gesturing to your own, “but also, your choice of song. god, do you even listen to anything else when you're in love?”

“but i'm not!” he yelped, facepalming himself upon realizing the shift in his tone is a dead giveaway of his true voice. “god—no. i'm not,” he added meekly, shaking his head, “you know i love the song. that's all.”

”fair enough,” acknowledging his plea, you briefly nod, “but that doesn’t justify the way you’ve been keeping the song on repeat! and don’t you think i don’t remember the few other occurrences when you did the same, because i knew for a fact that something happened every time you became distant after going through this rewrite the stars cycle!”

if his face were flushed before, then you’d categorize this new shade apparent on the tip of his ear as a what-the-fuck-i’m-screwed kind of blush and frankly, seeing this new side of him kind of made you regret not bringing the topic up sooner.

”you remembered?” his voice sounded more of a squeak rather than a proper question, still hiding behind the safety of his palms. “no you don’t! that was ages ago!”

”so things did happen!” your grin turned into a laugh, drowning chris’ groan and series of disapproving no when he realized he just bit into your colorful, glimmering bait. “gosh—why didn’t you tell me you were dating someone? i was kinda hurt whenever that happened you know,” you purse your lips dramatically, “i lost a friend to talk to and never exactly know the reason why until today.”

“oh,” chris blinked, finally looking right at you with a puzzled gaze, “you… were? i mean—i’m sorry i hurt you. for the record, i wasn’t dating anyone. i just kinda assumed, you know, since you were dating someone else anyway i thought—“

”hold up—“ both statements rolling off of chris’ lips inadvertently made you hold up a hand, stopping the latter on his tracks. ”what?”

now both of you are puzzled.

you? dating someone?

”i just wanted to give you space,” chris reiterated, hand now awkwardly resting on his equally red nape, “figured you’d want that since me being around will likely bring trouble for you and the person you were dating.”

”but… i haven’t dated anyone since we became friends?”

you’re thoroughly confused.

”wait, what?” chris shook his head in disbelief, “what do you mean you haven’t dated anyone? what about the notes? and the flowers? and the chocolates too! what do you—what do you mean?”

nevermind, now you’re thoroughly confused.

”the ones from back in college?” your memories were not exactly as clear as you expected it to be, but you do remember receiving those gifts a few times due to its absurdity. “that was all from the rich ass kid i tutored! the one who i told you kept teasing me about never receiving any valentine's day gift? that kid? they sent me those gifts as a prank!”

“…what?”

the amount of ‘what’ you two have said in the past few exchanges is ridiculous.

”god—you thought i’ve been dating and never told you?” you finally pieced the puzzle together, incredulous. “and that’s why you distanced yourself? dude, are you serious?”

”well i just assumed!” chris raised his hands in defense, equally as incredulous as you are, “to be fair, those are usually gifts you get for someone you like! how am i supposed to know it’s from the kid you tutored? you never tried to told me!”

”you could’ve asked?” you stated, as-a-matter-of-factly. sometimes, despite that brilliant brain of his, chris could be quite the foolish one between the two of you. “besides, i thought you knew! you literally read the cards!”

”wha—how do you expect me to digest any of that when i was under the assumption someone i like is dating someone else!”

silence befalls chris’ usually cozy living room, leaving the soft resounding melody that hadn’t stopped as the only sound filling up the space. you’re not even sure if your ears were actually catching the right words falling from his lips; it felt too much like a fever dream. judging from the way his eyes turned wide, however,

you might have heard him correctly.

”you… like me?”

you never imagined you’d piece those words together, much less directing them towards chris. hell, even by remaining as friends was enough for you—having him to yourself was not something you thought would ever happen in this lifetime. you’re happy as you were; you’re content with being friends.

chris, on the other hand, is still visibly trying to digest the events that just unfolded around him. from the misunderstanding to unintentionally confessing his feelings, this was not how he expected his Sunday evening to be. all he wanted to do was be near the one person he’d been secretly nurturing his feelings for, praying that maybe one day he’d finally muster up the courage before everything was too late—but this was not how he expected things to turn out.

”i’m sorry,” he finally croaked, breaking the suffocating silence whilst also being too embarrassed to even look you in the eye, “i know it’s weird—from the misunderstanding to, you know, what i said. i never intended for you to find out about it this way. i understand that you don’t feel the same way, it’s okay, you—“

”oh shut up,” you capped his ramblings short, catching chris off guard. it’s not often you cut him off when he speak, so when you do, he knew you meant it.

“just, what?” you sighed, fingers begin massaging the throb on your temple. it’s hard to decipher what you’re currently feeling as a whole, but one thing you know for sure— you’re especially bothered by his last statement.

“chris, how would you even know what i feel if you’ve never even asked me?”

you watched through his pair of curious eyes as thoughts ran inside his mind, slowly deciphering what you meant with the sudden calmness in your voice.

“uh,” finally managing the train of assumptions in his head, chris then looked at you—only now, with a glimmer of hope reflected in his eyes, “do you... like me? like, more than just friends?”

and to that, you finally nodded.

“yeah, you dumbass. for the longest time.”

watching the way chris’ smile bloom easily turned you into another smiling mess—not missing the giggles nor the flush on your cheeks and all. It feels dumb, realizing that you’ve been into each other for forever but never realizing it because of some stupid misunderstanding.

“and i like you too,” chris reiterated, his goofy smile erasing any trace of worry that was present on his face just a second ago. honest to god—you thought you were falling in love all over again for chris.

“in that case...” he shrugged before outstretching a hand, trying his best to play things cool despite the growing excitement in his eyes,

“will you officially be my partner in crime?”

sound of your laugh only fuels the warmth spreading within chris’ heart—and it felt like the way he spent all those countless nights, wishing that one day the stars would eventually align for him finally paid off as you held his hand in yours, smiling brighter than any stars ever discovered.

“gladly.”

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

[revelboo]

PLEASE MORE OF THE SEEKERS 🙏🙏🙏 either the trine or any of their individual stories please, your writing is so good. You're the first author I've ever set notification on for, you're literally the best ❤️

True Romance Pt 3

Seeker Trine x Reader

• Primus, he can hear you moving around again on his berth. About to turn his head, Starscream freezes when you move closer and curl against his arm, shivering. Cold? Annoyed, he lifts his arm and you gasp, trying to scramble away in the dark before he’s scooping you up and laying you on his chassis so you’ll be still, pressing his servos down against your spine to make you lay down flat. Venting tiredly when you finally stop trembling against him and relax, little nuisance. Warm and soft on his chassis, little heart racing.

• One of his big servos slides almost absently between your shoulder blades as you’re pinned to him. But he’s warm, shockingly so. The tension and anxiety melting out of you as you lay there, feeling a faint humming under you. Knowing you shouldn’t be able to relax, that you need to be plotting your escape, but you find yourself nodding off to the feel of that servo petting your back. Feeling safe despite yourself.

• Wings flaring lazily, Thundercracker lifts his head. Can hear Skywarp stirring and reluctantly rolls off of his berth to get ready for patrol. It’s the little sound from the human that draws his attention. Leaning over Starscream’s berth, he reaches for the little form sprawled on his brother’s chassis. Tips of his servo brushing your softness as he starts to lift you and then Star’s hand is on his arm. One optic squinting up at him, before letting go to allow him to scoop you up. You make an adorably sleepy sound, cheek laying on his servo as he gently taps against you to wake you up. Aware of Star sitting up, watching him. “Come on, little one.”

• Yawning as the blue one, Thundercracker, cups you to his warm chassis and wanders around the space the three share, you sleepily watch the other two getting out of their berths. “How often do you think humans eat?” Thundercracker asks and that at least breaks through your sleepiness. A faint hint of worry filling you at that question. Knowing you need to speak up, but your voice failing you when Skywarp glances at you.

• “It’s little, can’t eat much,” Skywarp mutters, stalking past and barely resisting the urge to reach out and touch the softness of your hair. Remembering how warm you felt in his servos, the feel of your heart beating against him. Wide eyes turn his way, looking up at him with uncanny intelligence. “Think it might try to get off the berth if we leave it?” And likely break its delicate little bones or neck. That thought twists about his spark unpleasantly.

• Hesitating to glance at you in Thundercracker’s hand, Starscream can’t deny the possibility. In your place, he’d try to escape. If you do get loose and into the halls, other Decepticons will find you. Likely crush you for fun. “Here,” he murmurs reaching out his cupped hands and staring Thundercracker down until his brother vents and hands you over. Opening a drawer on their desk, he lowers you inside, servos lingering as you cling to him, alarm on your face. Your little frightened ‘wait,’ making him stroke your arm. The drawer is at least deep enough you can’t climb out. Not easily anyway. “Give me the blankets,” he says, reaching as Skywarp hands them over and he arranges them into a nest for you. “If you try to climb out, little one, I’ll be very displeased,” he warns, using the tip of his servo to tilt your little face up to meet his optics. Needing to be sure you understand he’s serious.

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[starlostastronaut]

CRESCENT

summary: night walk with your boyfriend in london

kim seungmin x reader. fluff. seungmin is a tease. 0.9k

seung's pictures from london wouldn't leave me alone. they're just so boyfriend, i had to write this. everyone say thank you mars. probably self indulgent and definitely not proofread. enjoy <3

my masterlist

“Hey, wait up!” you half laugh, half yell, immediately covering your mouth before someone can complain about you yelling on the street. The clock hadn't reached ten yet, but it was nearing the hour and who knew what kind of people lived in this neighborhood. Better to be safe than sorry, as you’ve already had enough experiences with angry grandmas complaining about the noise during the “quiet night period”.

Seungmin didn't share your concerns. With laughter booming out of his chest he ran down the empty street, spreading his arms like wings. He made a whoo sound as he flew down the street. You smiled as you walked a few meters behind him. It was a nice feeling, seeing Seungmin be so carefree and happy. So far from the idol image his company carefully built (and he tore down bit by bit every day, despite their best efforts). Just a young, regular guy who's only worry is remembering the way back to the hotel.

At one point he turned around, jogging backwards while throwing lighthearted jabs at you for being slow. His eyes crinkled up into crescents as his lips stretched into a smile. “Really, if you walk any slower, that snail we just passed will-” Occupied with making fun of you, he missed the change in the pavement's texture and tripped backwards, dropping his half empty water bottle that rolled down the street.

How the tables have turned. Stopping in your tracks, you watched Seungmin find his balance and then look around, confused as to where his plastic bottle went. Spotting it near, he chased after it like a dog after a ball. When he finally caught up, he raised it victoriously to the sky.

“Good boy,” you laughed, patting his head when you reached the spot where he stood with the bottle. He pulled an offended pout that quickly melted into a soft smile. When you pulled your hand away, he leaned his head to chase after your touch. You smiled. Sometimes he really was like a puppy - just a bit of attention was enough to make him happy. 

Seungmin's smile fell a little when you refused the silent wish for more affection, but he quickly shook that feeling off. He smirked at you before reaching for your hand and lazily lacing your fingers together. He looked into your eyes, his expression betraying his mischievous intentions. He gently pulled you closer, his other arm moving around to your back as you leaned forward. 

He slid his bottle into the side pocket of your bag.

Disappointed, you frowned at him. "I thought I was getting a kiss,” you pouted at him, to which he responded by shrugging. 

“I just love teasing you. Your reactions are so cute,” he confessed with a smile and for a second you considered forgiving him. There was just something about his smile and the way he lit up everytime, that made your heart melt. You were positive you would find a way to bring him all the stars of the universe, he just had to ask.

But not tonight. No, you weren't going to let him get away with it so easily again. You freed your hand from his grasp, intending to pull away, but he didn't let you. When you weren't paying attention, his hand found its place around your waist, holding you firmly in place. "I can't kiss properly you when my hands are full, can I baby?” he murmured, leaning closer. You closed your eyes, anticipating your deserved kiss. You felt his hot breath on your skin and something soft and gentle touched your forehead, lingering for a few slow seconds.

“Seungmin!” you complained, hitting his chest. This was so not fair, you deserved a proper kiss. Seungmin responded by laughing in your face at your reaction. His hand on your waist slipped as his body shook with laughter. How rude. What does a person have to do to get a simple kiss these days?

“I'm sorry,” Seungmin chuckled. “Really. I mean it.” He readjusted his hold on you and pulled you closer again. This time, he finally gave you that kiss.

You closed your eyes as his lips met yours in a soft, gentle and loving kiss, soon turning into teasing, daring and desperate. Hungry, like he hasn't kissed you in days (which he hasn't. You only flew to London this morning). 

Seungmin wasn't one for affection, you knew that since before you started dating. He didn’t seek out hugs and touches like his members, he would much rather just spend time with you or do something for you. Yet every time he kissed you, there was this unknown passion, longing for more. It made you dizzy and you couldn’t get enough of that feeling. Of being desired by a man who wasn't really fond of physical affection.

He pulled away, smirking. “Happy now?” 

You smiled, satisfied now that you got what you wanted. “Very much.” You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers back together, holding his hand tightly in yours. 

Honestly, you should have expected he would take off running like a dog chasing a ball again, dragging you behind him like the poor owner holding the leash. Determined to not let him have this one, you caught up, running by his side. Just two carefree lovers, enjoying the night as your combined laughter rang through the streets.

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© starlostastronaut 2024 | do not repost/translate my work without permission

[sunflw3rbouquet]

iris

gojo x male reader spoilers for the jjk manga!!

notes: high school gojo!, meanish suguru and shoko, satoru hating higher ups (we knew), unedited bc im lazy, not entirely lore accurate, reader has implied telepathy, really unrealistic, title from the googoo dolls, this could be so much better tw: cursing, DEATH (im describing death guys please watch out), making out (lazily and not described), saliva (idk its nasty to some people), gore described in death, BLOOD

…sun✰ draft back from my emo era, i cried writing this</3 happy april fools guys!

and i don't want the world to see me 'cause i don't think that they'd understand when everything's made to be broken i just want you to know who i am

satoru’s soft hands had become rougher over the wet winter. 

countless cold december nights had made the skin on his hands crack. y/n and satoru laid pressed against one the roofs of the high school, fingers intertwined tightly. the warmth from their hands was like a fire, heating both of their bodies in spite of the cold winter. satoru’s eyes watched the sky, stars blinking brightly.

“i can’t wait till we get older.” he whispered, squeezing y/n’s hand gently. satoru turned his head to look at his boyfriend, smiling softly. butterflies fluttered their wings in y/n’s stomach at the expression, his face inching forwards towards satoru’s.

his only reply was a soft hum, satoru giggling. “uh huh, yeah. i can’t wait to go on dates at any time of the day, to wake up in your arms, to see you all the time, to go on missions with you, to marry you.”

y/n looked away and back towards the sky, his face caked with a pink glow. “shut it…”. the air returned to it’s winter quiet as the two stared at the blinking lights of the city.

the silence allowed the thoughts y/n had laid to rest bubble up again, flowing to the tip of his heavy tongue. maybe, just maybe, he could say them. if he was brave enough. it’s only a few words-

“maybe…” the start of a sentence brought satoru’s attention back, his eyes going straight to y/n’s face enshrouded in darkness. “once we retire from this sorcerer stuff we can finally be together? like in public.” y/n’s sentence ended, but the silence didn’t get broken up by satoru replying. doubts that y/n had pushed down for a second bubbled up again in the long, cold silence. maybe satoru didn’t want him forever. maybe he was something for now, something to quell the pain of adolescence.

and then satoru laughed.

satoru’s laughter rang through the night, so brightly that a passerby would think the sun was rising. y/n turned his head to look back at his boyfriend, his fears quelling as he saw the brightest smile on satoru’s face.

“i’m excited for the day i’ll forever be yours.” satoru moved forward, pressing a gentle kiss to y/n’s cheek. the world was so much brighter when satoru was affectionate, which was often, but the feeling of his lips was ethereal.

y/n let himself sink into the feeling. no doubts, no worrying about dying, just happiness. just himself and the boy he loved. he squeezed the boy’s hand again, allowing himself to feel each muscle and tendon squeeze satoru’s palm.

satoru let out a sigh, moving from his spot to cuddle into his boyfriend’s side. his breath was the slightest bit warmer than the weather outside, the patch of skin graced with the feeling reacting by sending a shiver through y/n’s body. the contact between them surfaced thoughts of doubts and fear that had been put to rest for a second.

so much for peace.

y/n brought his hand up to pet satoru’s hair like he was a cat begging for attention, words bubbling on his tongue. “toru…”

“hey really handsome boyfie may we go inside? i’m really cold and i don’t want to become a snowman.” satoru’s voice was chopped with the sound of chattering teeth, a smile on his lips as he looked up to make eye contact with y/n.

even when satoru cut his words off unknowingly, even when doubts clouded y/n’s mind, satoru’s bright smile melting everything he ever feared. the panic that morphed y/n’s smile into a frown disappeared as y/n nodded, sitting up with satoru in his lap. “of course, toru. let’s go to my dorm mr. snowman.”

soft whines and complaints left satoru’s throat as they climbed down from the roof, entering into the silent hallway. “i don’t want to be a snowman! i’m a warm, sweet ray of sunshine.” he spoke with a proud smile, his hand lacing with y/n’s. silence fell between them as the made their way to y/n’s dorm room, opening the door to enter inside.

satoru plopped down on the bed, a lovesick grin gracing his face as he looked at y/n. “also, it makes me happy you’re calling me toru again. i think you’re getting better. i think we’re better. it makes me so happy.” y/n stopped in his tracks at the dresser, putting the tshirt he was holding back down on the top of the surface. he looked back at satoru, smiling softly.

“i love you.” satoru said, a sparkle in his eyes as he flopped back down on the bed, y/n’s face flushing.

satoru loved him. it wasn’t a hard thing to assume, but confirmation made everything better.

the forgotten words he had to say crossed his mind once more, his returning smile falling even with satoru’s cute mumbling. 

i have something i need to tell you.

the words wanted to push from y/n’s mouth, but he found a strand of restraint to keep them at bay.

it can wait for later. there’s no need to make satoru upset when he’s so happy.

the training fields were covered in snow as y/n woke up in the morning, suguru and shoko standing in their jackets under the pavilion. y/n’s eyelids slowly blinked as he adjusted to the morning light, his jacket thrown loosely over his unbuttoned uniform shirt. satoru came up behind him, slinging his arm over y/n’s shoulder like it was natural for him. like it was so natural, even though it caused y/n’s heart to flutter to the sky and made gojo’s cheeks turn the softest shade of pink. 

“good morning my favorites!” satoru cheered, jumping into the snow.

shoko sighed, putting one of her finger tips next to her ear to block the sound of satoru making a snow angel. suguru cringed, side eyeing satoru as he got out of his angel and ran to him and shoko, leaning in to try and conserve body heat.

“good morning, satoru.” suguru breathed out, satoru smiling happily as he attempted to mold himself to suguru’s side. y/n let out a soft chuckle as satoru began to happily talk about his morning with suguru.

the outside was filled with noise, shoko and suguru resisting from rolling their eyes as they watched satoru jump around happily like a child on a sugar rush. they talk between each other, their words exiting their mouths in a hushed tone.

”god, he’s so energetic.” suguru sighed, putting his head in his right hand, shoko tightening her scarf around her neck.

”i know, it’s so early. i just can’t believe anyone could like him when he’s so energetic like this.” shoko sighed, rolling her eyes as satoru jumped to y/n, adjusting his hat.

even though the two were quiet, y/n still heard their words, the things they were saying swirling around his mind.

how could anyone like him. how could anyone like him. how could anyone like him.

how could they say that about his satoru? they were friends, weren’t they? as satoru played with y/n’s collar, y/n changed his gaze to look at suguru and shoko, shaking his head knowingly.

suguru smiled weakly, moving from his spot to make a snow ball, throwing it at satoru’s head with a smile. satoru turned, his glasses falling off as he stared at suguru. “bring it on!” satoru yelled, separating himself from y/n to throw snowballs at his friend. a small grin appeared on y/n’s face as he saw the two interacting, getting shoko involved. their loud screams rang through the exterior, y/n watching them play.

he loved satoru so much.

“y/n, come join!” satoru yelled, suguru and shoko reciprocating his call. y/n joined them, throwing snow at the three with a smile on his face.

how could anyone like him? because he’s the kindest, funniest man in the world.

the heater in y/n’s dorm must have been broken.

there were 5 blankets on his bed and a cuddly satoru resting on his chest, but the air was still cold. the windows weren’t open, and the rooms had been temperature checked before winter started, so what could it be?

“i don’t want you to go.” satoru whined, looking down at his boyfriend. a pout rested on his lips, his bright, blue eyes staring into y/n’s. his fluffy white hair stuck up in every direction, y/n’s hands running through it. he was cold because y/n had broke his heart (figuratively) by saying he had a mission to go on. 

“i know. i’m sorry.” y/n’s voice was soft, a frown gracing his lips. satoru sighed, adjusted himself so he was situated in the crook of y/n’s neck, his hips wriggling before deciding on a place.

“i think the higher ups hate me. why are they taking away my boyfriend.” satoru whined, his words vibrating on y/n’s skin. “i could kill this thing in a minute and be back to you.” y/n winced slightly, pressing a kiss to satoru’s face. 

“…you don’t have to do all this work for me. besides, it’s a first grade, i’m a first grace sorcerer, i’ll be fine.” y/n countered, causing satoru to break out into a sea of whines and complaints. with a sigh, y/n pressed a kiss to the man’s lips, a smile begrudgingly appearing on his own. “you’ll live, toru. i promise.” satoru smiled, snuggling his head into his boyfriend’s chest.

“i know. you’re really strong.” satoru spoke, his voice deescalating from his normal loud demeanor. he let his quiet voice take over, a soft, gentle voice replacing the energetic voice he used to carry. “i love you.” he said, his lips attaching to y/n’s jaw as he pressed gentle kisses to the skin. y/n sighed, his hands raking through satoru’s hand.

he pulled satoru’s head off his jaw, connecting their lips. they moved together as one, satoru’s puffy, pink lips a calming medicine for his body. was it possible for a man to be this perfect? satoru’s hands gripped y/n’s free one, his lips moving faster. y/n moved his hand that laid in satoru’s hand to rest on his jaw, a smile on his face. lazily kissing his boyfriend was one of the best pleasures in the world, there couldn’t be anything better than that.

satoru situated himself on top of his boyfriend, his unoccupied arm wrapping itself around y/n’s neck until his palm was pressed against the baby hairs on the nape. their lips were slowly moving back and forth, like a dance that was a slow and constant tango. satoru was a weighted pillow, and he quelled y/n’s anxiety that easily. 

all the fear of something he had to say to his boyfriend, gone away in an instant. the words were gone from his lips, satoru taking them out through the placement of his own on y/n’s. a soft noise escaped y/n’s lips as satoru separated himself, a smile on his lips starting after seeing the thin strand of saliva breaking in between them.

“i’m staying the night with you. i’m going to be here when you leave tomorrow.” satoru affirmatively spoke, y/n smiling as he saw satoru wipe his lips.

“i guess i have all night to spend with you.” y/n spoke, satoru nodding, his hand squeezing y/n’s. “i love you.” he repeated, satoru rolling his eyes. the room was warm now, all the cold gone, y/n’s heart pumping fast as he saw satoru gaze into his eyes.

“yeah yeah, i love you too.” 

satoru was one of the best ways to get sent off before a mission.

y/n had been gone for a week.

a week was unnecessary for this mission. satoru knew this. his boyfriend was strong, so one grade one curse shouldn’t constitute a week long trip.

something had to be wrong. that had to be the only option.

satoru sat up in y/n’s bed, his eyes sore as he rubbed them. his heart was beating fast, too fast for a simple deep sleep.

help.

was he hearing something?

satoru.

he was definitely hearing something. y/n’s voice ringing in his ears, even though he was hundreds of miles away fighting a curse. even with this rationale, satoru got out of bed and put his slippers on. pathetic. the strongest, only showing weakness for the man he loves. satoru exited the dorms, running as fast as he could without tripping. the streets of tokyo pass by in a blur, his stomach clenching and his lungs barely able to catch oxygen.

he had to find y/n.

he looked down an empty block of land in some deserted city block, time slowing after he blinked. satoru’s eyes caught on a bloodied figure, the damage of a fight prevalent on the street. he recognized that figure anywhere. his y/n.

“no, no, no, no, no.” satoru muttered, running over to grab the man’s hand. blood pooled down his arm, satoru able to see the bone peeking through from where the blood flowed. “baby, what did they do to you?” he asked the question quietly, squeezing y/n’s hand.

“there was too many- curses. one was… a special grade?” y/n spoke, his words getting cut off by the closing of his eyes in pain. “it doesn’t hurt anymore.” he spoke, tears pooling in satoru’s eyes.

“i need to get you back to school. they can save you- baby you hear me?” he spoke, his voice frantic.

“satoru, i think i’m dying.” y/n’s voice was hoarse, the words coming out shaky. his hand reached up to hold satoru’s cheek, a scared look appearing on his face. “you’re… glowing. it’s beautiful.” he whispered, tears dropping from satoru’s eyes. satoru began to speak, y/n cutting him off. “if i’m dying, at least i’m here with the man i love.”

satoru broke. tears now flowed from his eyes, now taking in y/n’s appearance. his chest was bleeding everywhere, and there were cuts in the pants of his uniform, where more blood leaked out. dried blood was caked on his forehead, showing that he had been bleeding for a long time. there was nothing satoru could do for him.

he was dying.

“i love you. so much. with my entire heart.” satoru whispered, kissing y/n’s lips gently. it tasted like blood. satoru hated that taste, but he savored it. he could still find y/n’s taste inside there, even if it was subtle. 

“i love you too. forever.” y/n spoke quietly, his eyes glossing as he began to cry. satoru held the man tightly, disregarding the blood seeping into his pajamas, holding the man tightly as tears fell down his face and his breathing got slower until it stopped. 

satoru’s heart stopped along with it. he cried out, sobs racking his body as he held the man tightly, voice heard by no one.

if only he had gone on the mission instead.

satoru was empty.

his heart was beating coldly, nothing good happening from each beat. he was alive. that’s why it was terrible. he was living and y/n wasnt.

his eyes were red and puffy, no icepack cooling the pain. his legs ached from how much he sat in bed, and his eyebags were deep from sleepless nights haunted by his boyfriend. 

or, should he say, his dead boyfriend.

y/n’s funeral was small. yaga-sensei was there, and all the students (the living ones at least) showed up. even other sorcerors had shown up to pay their respects to the late, but seemingly great, l/n y/n. 

everyone was given time up. everyone, except satoru it seems. everyone, except y/n’s own boyfriend. one of the only people in the world that gave two fucks about him.

satoru’s fingers clutched at the black fabric of his uniform, his signature glasses traded for a black blindfold that blocked out all the light. it blocked out the thing that only y/n could have. bright light.

y/n was the light. y/n was the brightest sunshine. y/n made gojo, the world, shine and become complete. and now his sun was gone.

tears dropped from satoru’s eyes, rolling down his cheeks. they peaked from under his blindfold until they fell off onto the grass or rolled down his neck. he was tired of kneeling. he was tired of sitting on the grass in front of his boyfriend’s grave, waiting for the day when he could join him.

”why did you leave me?” he asked, his throat choking in fear and annoyance as he berated y/n once more. wasn’t this one of the stages of grief? satoru never paid attention when the teachers when on about that stuff in lessons. he never thought he would have to know it. even then, the words somehow floated to the front of his mind. anger. he was angry. he was angry with himself for not going to help sooner, he was angry at the higher ups for not understanding the situation they set y/n up in, and he was angry at y/n. 

why was he angry at the man he loved? 

it was pointless to be angry with him. no good would come from it. “i’m sorry.” he whispered, tears pooling as he let his throat relax. “i’m so sorry. i failed you.” his speech turned from words to mumbles until they became weak cries, satoru’s head falling into his hands.

how many times had he cried this week? how much had he lost of himself waiting for an answer from someone in power? someone above him? why was he hurting so badly? when would it ever stop?

he just wanted his boyfriend. satoru wanted nothing else but his boyfriend. nothing more, nothing less. he would give the entire world for this wish, giving up being the strongest just for one more day, no one more hour, no minute, no second with the man he loved. he would give it all for the man he loved.

not loved. loves. 

he loves y/n. he will always love him. 

picking his head up, satoru wiped his tears. he sniffled once more, then imagined y/n wiping his tears as he stood up, confidence and anger radiating off of his body. he wasn’t going to cry anymore. 

“i’ll make it worth it for you, y/n. i’ll make it worth it for you.”

was this the end?

satoru’s body hurt. what was left of it, at least. 

how much longer did he have before he faded away? minutes? seconds?

he wasn’t ready to go. all the students he had left to teach, all of the things he had to do. he couldn’t leave yuji, nobara, inumaki, maki, panda, and megumi. god, he couldn’t leave megumi. how was he supposed to make sure that jujutsu sorcerers continued to be strong? 

his eyes glossed over, blinking once, then twice as he looked at the sky. the sun was so beautiful. there was a beautiful glow, and he was brought back to high school. this must have been what y/n was talking about all those years ago when he died. the most beautiful glow filled the sky as his chest began to ache less, y/n’s face appearing in front of him.

“i told you not to join me so fast.” y/n said, his face clear from bruises and pain. satoru tried to speak, y/n shushing him. “come on, we’re together again at last.” y/n stuck out his hand, satoru reaching up to grip the skin. he could feel the skin. slowly, his body was lifted from pain and the blood and cuts taken as he was finally in y/n’s arms again. tears pooled in satoru’s eyes, feeling incomplete until y/n held him tightly. “i got you, love. it’ll hurt for a while, but i’ve got you.”

with a sigh, satoru nodded, kissing the man’s lips gently. god, he missed the feeling so much. his broken heart was finally put back together, a smile on his lips.

i needed someone who understood me like you. no more, no less.

“fushiguro, are you sure this is were gojo-sensei is?” itadori asked, fushiguro holding a bouquet of white flowers to place on the teachers grave. 

“i’m sure.” he said, sitting down in front of a pair of graves, placing the flowers down. the rest of the first years followed suit, itadori looking up to read the names and inscriptions.

l/n y/n, 12/24/2006 

gojo satoru, 12/24/2018

together forever.

i just want you to know who i am i just want you to know who i am i just want you to know who i am

the man satoru is... 3482 words

[littlest-w01f]

do we have any fxf smut coming soonnnn? If not can I request something? Maybe like a smutty fic where feyre x reader are besties but they're secretly fucking each other with pegging (feyre pegging reader) and inserting a vibe into reader atthe same time? And its so hot omg and feyre has one in her too 🤤

PLS I NEED SOMETHINGGGG 😩

a/n: You've convinced me, anon. I love this so much. Ahhh eufhebw HAWT

The Way You Taste

Feyre Archeron x Reader

FEYRE MASTERLIST

ACOTAR MASTERLIST

Summary: You are best friends, part of the Inner Circle, but there's always time to be more behind closed doors. Especially while you are all alone with time to kill.

Cw: Fingering, oral F!Receiving, toys, vibrators, pegging, Smut 18+ MDNI

Lounging on the plush sofa in the Cabin, a glass of rich red wine cradled in your delicate hands, you gazed out at the star-studded expanse visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The soft glow of ambient lighting caressed your curves, highlighting the swell of your breasts beneath the silky robe that had slipped open slightly.

You sighed, "You're besties, keep Feyre out of trouble." You mocked what Rhysand had said. The three brothers were out in Illyria, Mor in Hewn City, while Amren was wherever there would be blood. Leaving you and Feyre alone. You could hear the sounds of wings flapping outside. "Going... Going... Gone!"

As the sound of wings faded into the night, you took another sip of your wine, savouring its rich, velvety texture. The heat from the fireplace danced across your skin, making the silk of your robe feel deliciously cool against your body. You stretched languidly, the movement causing your robe to slip further down your shoulders and expose more of your soft skin.

Feyre laughed from where she was painting. She set down her paintbrush and turned to face you with a mischievous glint in her eye. When she turned, you had already launched yourself at her, lips pressing against each others.

As your lips met in a passionate kiss, Feyre melted into your embrace, her soft curves pressing against your body. Her tongue darted out, tracing the seam of your lips as she deepened the kiss hungrily. One hand tangled in your long, silky hair while the other roamed down your back, nails lightly scratching through the thin fabric of your robe. "Ugh, I've been waiting for some time alone with you, y/n..."

Feyre grinned wickedly as she pushed you down onto the plush sofa, straddling your hips. Your robe had fallen completely open now, revealing your breasts topped with hardening nipples as she worked to remove her own clothes.

"I thought you'd never say it, I think I've been teasing you all week... You really don't break, do you?" You giggled softly, your nimble fingers made quick work of the pants she wore. You parted the fabric, exposing her body to your hungry gaze. "Mmm, look at you... So gorgeous and all mine."

Feyre leaned down, capturing one of your hardened nipples between her soft lips. She suckled and flicked the sensitive bud with her clever tongue as her hand slid between your thighs to cup your aching core.

Feyre moaned around your nipple as she felt how wet you already were, your arousal coating her fingers. She released your breast with a wet pop before trailing kisses along your collarbone and up your neck. "I need you so badly, y/n," she breathed hotly against your ear. "I've wanted this all week - to touch you, taste you, make you scream my name. Those 'fuck me' eyes you've been giving me made me want to take you right in front of Azriel."

Her fingers found your clit, rubbing slow circles around the sensitive nub as she dipped two fingers knuckle-deep into your tight heat. Feyre pumped them in and out, curling to hit that special spot inside you with each thrust. At the same time, she ground her hips down, the slick evidence of her own desire smearing across your thigh.

As Feyre continued her sensual assault, you writhed beneath her, lost in a haze of pleasure. Your head fell back against the sofa cushions, dark hair fanning out like a halo as you panted and mewled. "Ah! F-Feyre!" you cried out, voice hitching as she stroked that perfect spot inside you.

Your hips bucked up to meet her thrusts, greedy for more of that delicious friction. The obscene squelch of your combined arousal filled the room, mixing with your increasingly desperate moans. Feyre captured your lips again in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries of ecstasy.

Breaking away, she sat back on her heels, drinking in the sight of you spread out before her - flushed cheeks, heaving chest, dripping cunt. You took the chance from the second of breath she gave you, climbing on her, pushing her against the sofa.

Feyre gasped as you suddenly reversed their positions, pinning her beneath you on the plush sofa. Her eyes darkened with lust, pupils blown wide as she gazed up at your dishevelled form. "Mmm, so assertive," she purred, reaching up to palm your breasts, kneading the soft flesh. "I love it when you take control like this."

She arched her back, pressing her naked body flush against yours, all smooth skin and dangerous curves. Feyre nipped at your jaw before licking a hot stripe up your neck to your ear. "What are you going to do to me, y/n?" she whispered huskily.

Feyre let out a sharp gasp as you pressed your thigh firmly against her soaked folds, grinding slowly. Her hips rolled instinctively, seeking more of that delicious pressure and friction. "Oh fuck, y/n," she whimpered, fingernails digging into the plush cushions. "That feels incredible..."

Leaning up, Feyre captured your lips in a filthy kiss, all teeth and tongue as she poured her desperation into it. Her hands roamed your body greedily, mapping every curve and dip. She tweaked a nipple hard enough to make you hiss before trailing lower, over your taut stomach, heading straight for your aching centre. "I need to you," Feyre growled against your lips. "Need to bury myself between these sexy thighs and take this pretty cunt until you're screaming."

"We should get back to my room, the beds got more space for fun." You smiled down, pressing your core against hers, grinding down.

Feyre groaned deeply as you ground your soaked core against hers, the delicious friction sending sparks of pleasure racing up both your spines. "Yeah, let's take this somewhere more comfortable," she agreed breathlessly, giving your ass a firm squeeze.

Feyre landed on the bed with a bounce, immediately pulling you down on top of her. She kissed you fiercely as her hands roamed your curves possessively. Breaking away, she flipped your positions, hovering over you with a wicked grin. "My turn to tease you," she purred, trailing feather-light kisses down your neck and collarbone.

Feyre took her time lavishing attention on your breasts, licking and sucking at the sensitive peaks until they were stiff and aching. Lower and lower she kissed, over your quivering stomach, dipping her tongue into your navel. The scent of your arousal grew stronger as she neared your core, making Feyre inhale deeply. "Fuck, you smell divine," she groaned, nuzzling into the heat of your cunt.

Feyre inhaled deeply, the musky aroma of your arousal filling her senses and making her mouth water with anticipation. She nuzzled into your dripping folds, coating her lips and chin with your essence as she mouthed at your slit reverently. "Mmmm, you taste so good," Feyre groaned, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core.

Slowly, torturously, she dragged the flat of her tongue along your slit, lapping up your juices like a starved female. Feyre focused on your clit, flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves with the tip of her tongue before suckling it gently. Two fingers circled your entrance teasingly before plunging deep, pumping in and out in a steady rhythm as she worked your clit with single-minded focus.

You cried from the pleasure, one hand on her hair, the other reaching to a nightstand, "Wait- Wanna add some toys to the fun? I found a new one for our... Fun."

Feyre paused her ministrations, looking up at you with curiosity and barely restrained hunger. "New toys, huh? So that's why you've been trying to tempt me all week," she purred, a wicked gleam in her eye. "What did you have in mind, you absolute vexin?"

She watched intently as you reached into the nightstand, eager to see what delights you'd got. Feyre licked her lips, tasting your essence, as she waited impatiently for you to reveal your surprise. Her fingers remained buried inside you, twitching slightly, ready to resume pleasuring you at a moment's notice. "Don't keep me in suspense, y/n. Show me this toy and let's have some real fun," she coaxed, voice low and full of promise.

Without showing her, you pulled her into your lap, arms wrapped around her as you pressed the toy against her cunt, pressing in slowly. Feyre groaned, gripping your shoulders as you pushed the toy further in. With a wave of your hand, the toy started vibrating. You smiled, watching Feyre's body wither in pleasure. "It's controlled by magic... I bought a pair. I control yours."

Feyre's eyes widened as the toy began to vibrate inside her stronger, sending intense pulses of pleasure radiating through her core. "Oh fuck, y/n!" she cried out, back arching as she ground herself down on the buzzing toy.

The knowledge that you controlled her pleasure now only heightened Feyre's arousal. She captured your lips in a sloppy, desperate kiss as she rutted against you wantonly. "Cruel female," Feyre panted against your mouth, a moan interspersed between words. "Teasing me like this... If you control mine... I... Control yours, don't I?"

Feyre flipped you onto your hands and knees with surprising strength, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. She grabbed the matching toy from the nightstand, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she admired it. "Let's see how you handle a taste of your own medicine, shall we?" Feyre purred, voice dripping with dark promise.

Without warning, she pressed the cool tip of the toy against your dripping entrance, circling it teasingly. Then with a swift thrust, Feyre plunged the vibrator deep inside your tight heat, filling you completely. She set it to the highest intensity, hand rising as she did, the powerful buzzing instantly overwhelming your senses.

A sharp cry tore from your throat as the toy invaded your most intimate depths, stretching and filling you exquisitely. The intense vibrations seemed to reach every nerve ending, setting your entire being alight with pleasure. Your inner walls fluttered and clenched around the intruding object, trying to draw it even deeper.

"Oh gods, Feyre!" You keened, pushing your hips back desperately, seeking more of that delicious stimulation. Electric tingles raced up your spine as she worked the toy skillfully, alternating between slow, deep thrusts and quick, shallow jabs. Feyre's free hand roamed your trembling body, squeezing and caressing every curve and valley she could reach. "And I'm the cruel one?" You laughed, voice rough, you raised a hand slightly, curling your hands to increase the vibrations inside her.

Feyre gasped sharply as the vibrations intensified inside her, the increased stimulation sending jolts of ecstasy through her core. "Ahhh, y/n! Fuck, just like that," she panted, grinding down harder against the buzzing toy. Her movements became more erratic, chasing her rapidly building pleasure. "Fuck fuck, too much... Wouldn't want it to be over before we begin now..." She slowed your toy, sighing when you returned the favour.

"I think it's time I took you properly," She growled, settling between your thighs. "Since the other one is already in use, I'll have to use this hole." She purred, hands sliding between your ass, groping your ass, smearing a cold lubricant over it.

Your husky laughter echoed through the room as Feyre positioned herself between your spread legs. The sight of her, all lust-filled eyes and flushed skin, was enough to send another wave of desire coursing through your veins. "That sounds absolutely perfect," you murmured, shivering under her touch as she smeared the slick gel over your hole.

Her fingers dipped lower, tracing teasing circles around you before slipping inside. The intrusion was foreign but not unpleasant, and you found yourself pushing back against her probing digits. "More… Please," you begged shamelessly, body arching off the bed as she stretched and filled you.

Feyre's fingers pumped steadily, scissoring and curling to prepare you. "So tight around my fingers," she groaned, voice strained with need. "I can hardly wait to stretch you on my strap."

With a final, deep thrust, Feyre withdrew her fingers and reached into your nightstand for said strap and harness. As Feyre prepared the harness and strap-on, you lay front and spread your legs wider, giving her an unobstructed view of your full body. The anticipation was almost unbearable, each passing second heightening your desire for her possession.

"Hurry it the fuck up, Feyre." You started the vibrations inside her cunt again, making her jolt, giggling at the glare she gave you.

Feyre glared at you playfully, but there was no mistaking the eagerness in her movements as she quickly secured the strap-on around her hips. The thick, ridged toy stood enticingly between her thighs, slick with lube. "Patience," She purred, crawling back onto the bed to position herself between your spread legs once more.

With a firm grip on her toy, Feyre aligned it with your eager entrance. Slowly, deliberately, she pushed forward, the head of the strap-on breaching your body. You winced at the initial stretch, but Feyre didn't stop until she was fully seated within you, her pelvis flush against yours.

"Fuck, I bet you're so snug," Feyre groaned, hips still, savouring the feeling of heat coming off of you. Feyre held still for a long moment, letting you adjust to the invasion. Then, with a low growl, she began to move. Each thrust was deliberate and forceful, driving the thick strap deeper into your ass. The ridges and bumps along the toy's length rubbed against your walls, providing exquisite friction with every stroke as it rubbed against the vibrator in your cunt.

"You sound so good..." Feyre panted, picking up speed as she pounded into you, making you moan harder. Her breasts bounced with the ferocity of her movements, dragging against your back, drawing your gaze and fueling your own arousal. One of her hands came up to pinch and roll your nipples, adding to the sensory overload.

The vibrations from the toy still nestled inside you continued to pulse and throb, creating a symphony of pleasure that had you writhing beneath Feyre's dominant form. "Harder," You demanded breathlessly, meeting each of Feyre's powerful thrusts with your own backward pushes. The dual sensations of the strap-on stretching and filling you combined with the relentless vibrations were quickly driving you toward the brink of climax.

Feyre obliged, her hips snapping forward with renewed vigour. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, punctuated by your moans and Feyre's grunts of effort. Sweat beaded on your brow as the pace became almost brutal, the ridges of the toy stimulating your innermost tissues with every plunge.

"You love this, don't you?" Feyre rasped, leaning down to nip at your earlobe. "Love being taken hard and deep, stuffed full of cock while I make you come undone." Her words sent a thrill straight to your core, and you could feel your orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter.

You raised your hand slightly, closing your fist to increase the vibrations of the toy inside her, building her orgasm. Feyre let out a strangled cry as the increased vibrations hit her sweet spot, her hips stuttering in their relentless rhythm. "Ah fuck, yes! Just like that!"

She pistoned into you with wild abandon, the headboard slamming against the wall with each savage thrust. The room was filled with the lewd sounds of flesh meeting flesh and Feyre's ragged breathing. Your own cries joined hers, a chorus of pleasure as you hurtled towards the edge together.

Suddenly, Feyre's movements became jerky and erratic, her grip on the base of the strap-on tightening. With a hoarse shout, she buried herself to the hilt and ground against you, the ridges of the toy stroking your deepest points as she rode out her climax.

Waves of intense pleasure crashed over you as your own climax exploded, you came hard, the vibrations inside you amplifying the sensation. Your inner walls clamped down rhythmically on the invading toys, milking them for all it was worth.

As the aftershocks faded, Feyre collapsed on top of you, both of you panting heavily. She nuzzled into the crook of your neck, pressing soft kisses to your sweat-dampened skin. "That was... Incredible," Feyre murmured, voice husky with satisfaction. "I love the new toys..." She smirked, increasing the vibrations inside you playfully.

You chuckled breathlessly, the gentle buzz of the vibrator sending pleasant tingles through your oversensitive flesh. "Definitely a hit," you agreed, reaching up to card your fingers through Feyre's damp hair. "But I think we've earned a break, don't you?"

Feyre lifted her head, eyes sparkling with mischief as she gazed down at you. "Oh, I don't know," she purred, slowly withdrawing the strap-on with a wet pop. "We could always try something else..."

Before you could respond, Feyre had rolled onto her back, pulling you on top of her. The cool air kissed your heated skin as she guided your hips, positioning you above her dripping slit. "Or maybe you'd prefer to return the favor?" Feyre suggested, a sly smile playing on her lips.

You raised a brow at the girl, hearing the main door open downstairs, you cleaned both of you with your magic, making the scent of sex disappear. "Someone's back home early, maybe next time... Bestie."

Feyre nodded, a hint of disappointment in her expression, but she quickly masked it with a smile. "Yeah, maybe next weekend then? We can plan something fun. Sleepover?" She sat up, pulling her hair up her head as she watched you dress with a simple wave.

You leaned in to press a quick kiss to Feyre's cheek. "Definitely looking forward to it," You smiled at her, "You wanna stay inside a while?" She was looking too fucked out, you both knew you would surely be caught if you went downstairs now.

Feyre bit her lip, considering the offer for a moment before nodding. "Actually, yeah, that sounds really nice," she admitted, flopping back onto the bed with a contented sigh after she wore her clothes.

You quickly tidied up the bedroom, hiding any evidence of your activities. Once satisfied everything looked normal, you returned to Feyre's side, sitting beside her on the bed. Sitting in peaceful silence. Just friends if anyone walked in now.

{General - @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-angst @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith @velarisnightsky444 @minnieoo @mellowmusings @daughterofthemoons-stuff @tele86 @thelov3lybookworm}

[lilac-5ky]

always darkest before the dawn (Satoru x Fem!Reader)

plot: your boyfriend finds you waiting on his porch after a mission you warned him against going.

tags: hurt/comfort with a silly ending cause I'm silly for this man.

wc: 2.4k

“Baby? What are you still doing up?”

The sound of his voice gets amplified with every step he takes toward the dim-lit engawa, a pleasant break from the incessant chirping of the cicadas slowly being traded for that of the first morning sparrows—midnight sky melting into the lightest shades of blue. Stars are sprinkled over the velvet canopy like powder sugar, a subtle bronze haze dividing the horizon from the heavens above, and you almost thank them for sending their most exalted angel your way.

He comes alive again—wings heavy from the blood that soaks them, its source hardly human.

The knitted blanket slides off your shoulders as you turn around to face Satoru, his otherwise sublime features wearier and more haggard than you remember seeing them this morning by your pillow. He carries a bag in each hand, his apology wrapped in layers upon layers of aluminum foil. You wonder what it tastes like. Last time was gyoza, and the time before that drunken noodles—always accompanied by some sort of dessert from some faraway corner of the map, which he (typically) promises to revisit with you.

“Welcome home.” You sigh, mustering a smile to distract him from the dried-up tears that stain the apples of your cheeks.

It was a long night, and his absence stretched it to eternity. You realized after he left for his mission that forever is a long time to be spent alone, especially when the last words you said to him echo harder than the cumbersome footsteps of his departure, scaring you into thinking that was the last you heard of each other.

No one ever told you that being with the strongest meant becoming stronger yourself.

It’s not fair.

He doesn’t miss the opportunity to call you weak, making a habit of teasing you when your puny arms fail to carry his excessive haul of grocery bags or when you can’t open a mere jar of jam without him loosening the cap beforehand. He doesn’t admit you are stronger than him, despite you being the one to carry his burden and your worries, the two brewing into a sickly cocktail of premonition you can barely stomach—one that initiated today’s fallout.

You feel wronged. Your roles were reversed against your will; the comfort of being the weak one viciously yanked from your grasp, feet forcefully put into a pair of shoes you were never meant to wear. You should be weak. He should be strong. You should be crying, and he should be comforting. You should be able to tell him, don’t go, and he should be able to stay.

But you didn’t. And he did not.

Unaffected by the war of contradictory motions in your head, Satoru plops down beside you, large palms emptying of the cheap plastic handles to fill up with you. The thrill of the fight still hasn’t worn out, muscles taut from the action, and eyes bright under their concealment. He feels warm, warmer than the blanket that’s now receded to your thighs, though not warm enough to appease the cold in your heart, goosebumps prickling your skin from the inside out like your body is trying to escape itself.

A lump forms in your throat from where his lips touch your neck, briefly and fleetingly, before they are replaced with the familiar fluff of hair. It’s ironic how he tries to fit in you. There isn’t a part of you that hasn’t been touched by him in one way or another, and if you could pull out your own guts to make more space for him, then you would. You’d let him consume you whole if that meant never spending a second without him.

You wonder if that’s how love is supposed to be. You aren’t sure. You don’t know if you’re just another person who foolishly let themselves worship Gojo Satoru—if, in your effort to get to know the real him, you became his biggest fan.

“You are abnormally quiet.” You point out, instantly hating how ragged your voice sounds. The only dissonance in the picturesque garden of his estate.

Satoru shifts in his position, heavy jaw rubbing sweetly against your bare shoulder, hot breath fanning your neck. “I’m just mimicking you.”

“Mimicking me?” A bit better this time.

“Mhm.”

You glance at him, following the curve of his nose down to the dip of his cupid’s bow, both highlighted under the waning moonlight. Even when the stars are slowly drained and those flattering shadows dispelled, his beauty remains a certain constant. He is so beautiful that your heart aches, a longing sigh caught at the far back of your palate, his soft smile begging for its release.

He won’t hear you say it. Not tonight.

You test out the waters with a teasing poke of your tongue. He does the same, mouths almost touching with how closely he leans forward. Then a pout. A scrunch of the nose. An unserious wiggle of his eyebrows that mirrors your own—an image far more perfect than the one you’re used to seeing in the mirror.

“Would you jump down a cliff if I did?” You taunt.

“Absolutely!” He breaks the loop, answering in less than a heartbeat. “You know I would. The world would be a horrible place without my sugarplum.”

“You know, you could save us both if you wanted.” You say with a level voice.

“The greatest love stories are sealed by tragedy.” Satoru argues back. “Romeo and Juliette. Jack and Rose. Orihime and Hikoboshi. Takeru and Hikari.”

You are quick to spot the odd one out. “First of all, stop sneaking in Digimon references thinking I won’t notice, and second of all, Takeru and Hikari didn’t die.”

“No, but they never got together.” He frowns.

You roll your eyes. “You are unbelievable.”

“And you’re soooo pretty. Did you do something to your face? Your dark circles look extra dark tonight.” Satoru tries to catch your cheek in his palm, fine sand slipping through his fingers as you pull away.

“Shut up!” Your mixed chuckles course through your body, reigning over the tremors that previously had you shriveling into a ball of tightly packed limps. Staying mad at him is impossible when he’s actually there; all mood for poignancy gone in an instant.

“You never answered my question.” A featherlight hum brushes against the shell of your ear, the pout easy on his tone. “What are you still doing up?”

With a knowing smile, you peer at the sky, feeling the press of his cheek on yours as he follows the movement of your eyes. “Whenever I miss you, the only thing that calms me is looking at the sky.”

“You know I’m not dead, right?”

“Say one more stupid thing, and that will change!” You warn with your pointer up. He kisses it. God.

You tap your finger against his forehead, urging some distance be put between the two of you. “Whenever I look at the sky,” you start again, “I see you.”

Breaking from his embrace, you shape two circles with your thumbs and forefingers, narrowing their size until they turn into a pair of minuscule goggles you lower over to where his eyes supposedly lie behind the blindfold. “See? Just like your eyes.”

“Oh, I’m not too sure about that.” Satoru gazes at the sky through your fingers, eventually tipping in your direction. He smirks, “I mean, the eyes of the Gojo Satoru are kinda hard to beat. See?”

Peeling the blindfold off, he lets your palms spread over his cheeks, azure eyes losing their vibrancy as your dainty fingers frame them better than any pair of sunglasses in his collection. He’s right. The original cannot compare. It’s not Satoru’s eyes that resemble the sky. It’s the sky that resembles his eyes, for in his 28 years, he’s managed to make something as ancient as time itself seem like a cheap rip-off.

“But I am flattered.” Warm palms cushion yours as he brings them to his mouth. You don’t realize how frigid they are until he starts blowing the cold away, smiling against them. “Means I’m always on your mind with how often your head’s in the clouds.”

“Can’t go one minute without bringing me down, huh?” Your voice frail once more.

“I can. But where’s the fun in that?”

You pull each other into a gentle kiss, Satoru’s arms snaking around your waist while your fingers cup his cheeks with urgency, fearing that by the time your eyes blink open, he’ll already have faded into stardust. He doesn’t share your concern, soft pecks interrupted by muffled chuckles, the taste on his lips giving you an idea of what he brought home with him.

“Pancakes?” Your tongue drags against his bottom lip. Foreheads pressed against one another.

“Mhm. Figured you’d be hungry for breakfast at this ungodly hour.” Satoru pecks your lips again and again, making it impossible to think straight, let alone answer, given how often your mouths are smashed together.

“How did you know I’d be up?” You breathe out.

“Hmm, a premonition?” He grins, playing with fire with how he mocks your previous words of concern. “My six eyes—”

“Do your six eyes tell you that you’ll be smacked in three, two, one!”

Limitless activates before your forehead can ram into his skull, the number of times you bob your head futile.

“One of these days, my anger will outdo your technique.” You promise.

“Can’t wait for that!” Satoru beams earnestly. “Maybe then I can teach you about domains too. Make my baby into the best—well, second-best sorcerer.”

Truly impossible.

The world quiets down as the final veil of the night is lifted from the sky and dawn begins its dance, everything it touches slowly coming into life. Light seeps between the yellowing grass blades, illuminating the morning dew that rests upon them. Water sparkles as it pours from the bamboo fountain, the constant thump setting the tempo for the birds’ song. Fragrance is drawn out of the towering pine trees, grounding the elegance of the showy blue hydrangeas. No room for despair in this imagery of hope, complete with Satoru’s presence, white lashes fluttering shut as he stretches like a cat in the sun.

You love him.

You know you do. You mean it every morning and every night when he makes you say it in between chuckles, slender fingers tickling the admission out of your ribs. You mean it when he moves heaven and earth to fulfill a stupid promise you made at 4 AM when you were drunk out of your mind and he tucked you into the comfort of your shared bed—somehow less sober without a drop of alcohol in his system.

You mean it when there’s sand in his eyes, when his breath doesn’t smell as peachy as one would expect of someone as ridiculously perfect as him, when his voice cracks during a sing-along. You mean it when his tongue licks the luscious coffee cream from your lips and when it greedily laps between the puffy lips down under.

There is so much you love about him that you’d run out of synonyms for words before you could jot them all down in a way that’s not dull to read, and still, you’d lose out on describing how exactly he makes you feel.

Because Satoru isn’t a person, so much as he is art. Sometimes he is just splash of colors across a canvas without the masterful strokes needed to hone him into a finished product. Other times, he is just the notes composing the wonderful lilt of his voice, too audacious to be deemed a symphony. He can be poetry too, spilling out of the ordinary 17-syllable arrangement of a haiku. But most of all, he is raw energy, an untamed torrent ripping through mountains and a whirlwind sweeping everything in its path.

It’s hard not to romanticize him in moments like this. They don’t come too often.

“You know, you don’t need tragedy to write a good love story.” Your tendency to break the silence festers into a bad habit. “We might be doomed by the narrative, but we are here to live. I’d rather live with you than die with you, or live a life without you.” You whisper, voice getting caught in your throat.

Sincerity always scared you, but if there’s one thing more regrettable than words you’ve said, then that’d be words that were never told.

Your focus shifts to your dangling feet, grass grazing your toes at the completion of each nervous sway. You are no longer touching. Not purposely at least, contact reduced to the slight nudge of your shoulders as Satoru leans against his to smile.

“Gotcha.” He says, not quite pressuring you to face him just yet. “It was easy-peasy, by the way. Yuji and Nobara did most of the work, while Megumi—he fell inside a curse’s stomach. It was hilarious! You should visit them soon; see how my kids have grown.”

Your lips pucker their way around your mouth, tongue poking at your cheek from the inside—prelude to a slow nod. Too uncertain to be directed at him. You regret bringing this up. You should’ve let yourself bask in his affections when they didn’t require a verbal answer.

“You worry too much.” Your uneasiness prompts Satoru to crane his neck and lay a tender kiss on the crown of your head. His voice serious when he says, “I won’t die.”

“That’s what everyone says right before they die.”

“But I’m not everyone. I’m Gojo Satoru, and I won’t die.”

You gulp, then huff a forced chuckle. “H-hey, that’s a pretty good catchphrase. You should use it in your fights when you’re about to deal the killing blow.”

“I have a better one. I’m Gojo Satoru, and I love youuuu~” He sings, seconds before his lips attack your neck, deft fingers mercilessly tickling your sides against the hard wood.

“God! You are so corny!” You blurt in between giggles.

“You love it!” He protests, a wild glint to his eyes. “C’mon, don’t be shy. Say it.”

“N-no way!”

“No?” The sadist stops his torture, finding new ways to torment you as he slyly moves toward the forgotten takeout. “Guess I’ll be enjoying these myself then. Thank me for the food!”

“Hey, Satoru! Wait!” You concede.

Maybe it’s fine to let him stand on the podium alone this once.

a/n: my mood is all over the place nowadays, suffering writer's block, wrote this as a self-indulgent 5 AM craze, help satoru brainrot too strong

[xreaderstoryideas]

Let me show you my love

A/N: ok , it's been 3 days and that scenario keep ruing in my mind I have to write it , sorry if it's not that good it's the first time I write something like that 😅

Warnings: 18+, f!reader, fluff to soft smut (smut in betweenthe lemon cut), newly established relationships, lucifer is touch starve, I won't change my mind that man definitely whimpers 👀

Not proof read

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were both sitting in his larger than king-size bed, just talking, and the conversation drifted to how some people show their love language.

" - so our brain can sometimes overload our feelings off cuteness and love , so it turns its into aggressiveness. But since we love it, we don't wanna hurt it." You were explaining to lucifer what cuteness aggression was all about. " So lately, if you saw me fidget, or sigh , it not that I don't wanna be around you." You couldn't look him in the eyes while confessing why you've been a bit 'weird' lately. He's been so good to you, and you didn't want him to think that you couldn't stand him.

" it's just i-i ..... really love you , and ...... I don't want to overwhelmed you "

Lucifer was sitting at your side facing you, listening to your every word. He had noticed how you have been acting different when he was around, fearing you where not happy with him, he finally gathered his courage and asked you about it before going to bed.

When he was about to say something, a movement caught his eyes. You were taping your finger on the back of your other hand , exactly like every other time he noticed. He took his time and looked more closely at you, and he realized, "she's doing right now"

Your eyes lift up when you heard him move, how you found him surprised you a bit. He was now completely facing you, arms open as if inviting you in a hug, " love~ I see your restraining yourself right now, I'm not as fragile as I may look. if that's how you show your love, I'll be honored to receive it"

For a moment, you didn't know what to say. " r-really? You don't mind ......"

He chuckled, shaking his head. " Not at all, now, come here"

You smiled, accepting his hug. Lucifer let out a yelp of surprise when you dragged on your side of the bed , holding him like you would a teddy bear. " Don't blame me for what's coming next."

He didn't have the time to register that he was now laying down on you that you began to pepper his face with kisses. One of your hands, holding the back of his head, while the other was running down his back, in between the indented of where his wings retract. Your touch was so soft and loving that he couldn't help but feel a chills spread all over him, how long since he felt something like that, he couldn't remember.

" I kinda expected his back to be sensitive, but seeing him melt so fast is so adorable," you couldn't help but smile as you still kiss every inch of his face that you could.

Taking a pause in you assault , you hold his head with your hand, founding that lucifer was now putty in your hands, eyes haft-lid starring into space, it was truly adorable, he was truly adorable.

" ~ my darling love , could you please show me your horns, I wanna love every aspect of you~ " you sweetly asked before kissing his lips.

Even though your eyes were close, you could feel lucifer shifting in his full demon form, red horns sprouting on his head, tree pair of wings unfolding from his back, and his tail now lazily swishing around.

Separating from lucifer's lips, you took your time to admire the beautiful fallen angel. You couldn't imagine a more handsome being, and he was yours.

Letting his head rest on your breast, you begin to kiss his horn, starting where it sprouts from his head. Nearing the top of his horn, you continue by kissing the head of his snake halo, before going to his other horn, taking care of minding the flame between them.

At this point, lucifer's wings were all around you. One of your hands was still playing in his hair while the other rested on his back in between his wings and tail. " Are you feeling alright, lucifer?"

Lucifer lifted his eyes to meet yours, only to be faced with so much love and adoration. " Better than ever, y/n , my queen"

🍋----------------------------------------------------🍋

Your hand slowly drifts down his back, meeting the base of his tail, letting out a small moan, lucifer couldn't have help to be riddled up by your show of affection. Feeling the bulge on the inside of your thigh, you felt the need to help your lover with his predicament. All while caressing his tail, you whisper into his ear, " How would you like me to satisfy you , ~my king~"

Feeling himself getting harder at your seductive tone, lucifer wasn't able to stop the whimper that escaped his panting lips. " i-i need ....... you m-my love......."

Gliding your free hand in the sensitive feathers of one of his wings." I'm gonna need you to be more specific, darling~" lucifer buck and let out a loud moan at your action, his briefs becoming painfully tight. " hng.... please, I neeeeed to f-ahhh-feel you around me ..."

Deciding you had teased him enough, you smiled and kissed him, your hands helping lucifer undress the little clothes you both had. The moment your underwear was tossed to the side, lucifer's hand found itself at your heat , thumbs pressing circles on your clit and fingers pumping in and out.

You gasped, giving him the opportunity to let his forked tongue claim your mouth, swallowing every mewl your throat could conjure. His free hand intertwined with your own, finding purchase to balance him.

Feeling that you were worked up enough for him, lucifer drew back his hand. Letting out a whine at the lost his fingers, you try to follow his lips only to see lucifer lick his fingers clean. " mmhhhnnn, my queen , you taste so sweet nothing can compare "

Lucifer lined himself and slowly sheath completely, making both of you moan. " lu-lucifer, ...f-feel so gooood , my angel ...... mine"

When he started to move, beginning with slow thrust, you noticed that his tail was loosely warped around one of your leg, his wings flapped sporadically but still draped the two of you securely. You grip a handful of hair at the back of lucifer head and pull, giving you access to his neck and eliciting a guttural moan out of him. Begging him to move faster, you lather every part of him that you could reach in bites and hickeys, physically marking a claim on the king of hell.

" y/n ... I'm close.. s-sooclose" with his hand that was not interlocked with yours lucifer reached in between the two of you, easily finding you bundle of nerves. Expertly pouting pressure on it, you loudly found the tight knot quickly unraveling, rapidly panting the only thing coming out of your mouth was lucifer's name.

The moment the knot snapped, you could only scream lucifer's name as your walls constricted around him, almost making him finish at the sensation. Lucifer's thrust were getting sloppy, getting closer to his own release, " lucifer, it's ok .... cum for me darling ~" you felt him speed up chasing his high.

You kissed and swallowed his scream as he twitched and spilled inside you. Regaining both of your breath, lucifer's horns and tail receded and his wings retracted.

🍋----------------------------------------------------🍋

Pulling out and laying at your side, lucifer nuzzle himself in the crook of your neck." I love you, my queen, more than anything "

" I love you too, my king, more than anything"

" we should get up and take a bath luci"

"But I don't wanna get up, I'm good right here" he only but nuzzle himself more in your breasts, his arm snaking around you, locking you in place.

"..................... you can bring a couple rubber ducks in the bath if-" you didn't had the time to finish your sentence, lucifer had bolted to the attached bathroom saying it would be ready in less than 5 minutes. You could only lay there chuckling at his excitement.

A/N: fuck 😵‍💫 it took me more than 5h that write all of that. I sometimes had the pause because I was either embarrassed to write a part of I had the think how to phrase it 🙃 😅. Hope you guys like it 😁

[mirrorballpages]

I want your midnights

The gown she picked for Solstice was one she had found a few weeks ago. It had caught her eye in a shop window on the way home from a meeting, shimmering in the candlelight display, a shade of deep amethyst that shifted between indigo and violet as if the fabric itself could not decide what color it wanted to be. Something about it had called to her. And when she had slipped it over her head, felt the way the taffeta swept around her like dusk falling over water, she knew she had to buy it.

It reminded her of a dream she once had, of dusk over a foreign sea, the sky darkening into jewel tones as the last light dipped below the horizon.

The draped bodice swept gracefully off her shoulders, gathered at the edges with delicate flower appliqués that rested across her collarbone. And it had pockets—something she would never stop finding delight in. It lacked the usual embroidery or sparkle of her finer gowns, but in its simplicity, it was stunning. Against her fair skin, against the softness of her curls as they cascaded around her shoulders in polished curls…

She had hesitated at the price, fingers grazing the tag with guilt. She had yet to spend any of the salary she was given—a generous amount that sometimes made her feel as if she had stolen it. What had she done to deserve this? But this dress… this dress she wanted.

And so, for once, she let herself have something.

Now, as she walked downstairs, the fabric pooling around her like liquid twilight, she smoothed her hands over the pockets before standing by the window, looking outside. It was dark, the snowfall slow and steady, coating Velaris in a sheet of white. The sky glowed, the stars brighter than usual, as if even they were celebrating the longest night of the year.

She was lost in the sight, in the stillness of it, when a familiar shadow curled around her wrist, cool and whispering against her skin. Her heart fluttered.

"Happy Solstice."

Azriel’s voice was quiet, smooth as velvet, settling in her chest in a way that warmed her despite the cold beyond the window.

She turned, finding him standing just beside her, clad in a finely tailored black jacket and pants, no leathers in sight. It made him look softer somehow, though nothing could truly soften Azriel—not the sharpness of his jaw, nor the intensity of his hazel eyes, deep and knowing as they swept over her.

"Happy Solstice," she murmured, allowing herself a lingering glance.

His wings were tucked in close, the rest of his siphons absent, but there was no mistaking the power that rested beneath his careful stillness. His gaze flickered over her, pausing at the exposed sweep of her shoulders, the gentle curve of her collarbone. If she hadn’t been watching him so closely, she would have missed the way his throat bobbed, the twitch of his left wing, the slight parting of his lips as if he wanted to say something—

But then Rhysand stepped forward, clearing his throat as he carried a cake toward the center of the room.

Elain knew that cake. She had made it herself, carefully, painstakingly. But she had asked Nuala to decorate it, to make it look like the dresser Feyre had once painted in their old cottage, covered in stars and flowers and fire, swirls of color and light.

As Feyre’s eyes went wide, Elain gracefully walked toward her.

"I asked Nuala to do it in that order," she said softly, watching as her sister took in the familiar design. "Because you’re the foundation, the one who lifts us. You always have been."

Feyre’s lips parted, her throat bobbing as her eyes shone with emotion. And when she pulled Elain into a hug, Elain melted into it, feeling, for the first time in a long time, truly whole.

------------------------

The rest of the evening was lovely. Elain sat quietly, watching as everyone opened their gifts, observing their reactions with quiet amusement.

Amren, for all her usual coldness, lit up like a star as she tore into her presents—ripping through fine ribbons and delicate paper as if they were nothing, her silver eyes gleaming with hunger at the endless array of jewels she unwrapped. She hoarded them, sifting through sapphires and rubies, emeralds and diamonds, like a dragon guarding its treasure.

Morrigan’s gifts, on the other hand, were… interesting. The sight of Rhysand and Cassian staring, laughing, at the scandalous red silk lingerie Mor had gifted them had Elain laughing. A real, bubbling laugh she couldn't contain.

But the laughter died on her lips when the knock came. Elain swore she felt the air go cold. The room stilled as every head turned toward the door.

Nesta.

Elain was on her feet instantly, moving before she even thought about it, weaving past the couches and chairs until she reached the foyer, heart thudding. Nesta stood there, her face unreadable, but her hands were clenched into fists, her posture rigid. A wall of steel, but Elain saw through it. The hesitation in her eyes, the weariness in the tight lines of her mouth.

Elain didn’t say a word. She just took her sister’s hand and gently led her inside.

The memory of their last conversation—the pain Nesta had inflicted, the cruel words she had wielded like weapons—flickered in her mind. But Nesta was here. Nesta had come. That was all that mattered.

Elain brought her straight to the liquor cabinet, pouring her a glass of red wine without a word. As she handed it to her, she felt another pair of eyes on her. She caught his gaze across the room, steady and unreadable, but something in those hazel depths softened when she met them. He saw her, saw the way she still took care of her sister, despite everything.

Elain didn’t know what compelled her, but as she turned back to the drinks, she poured herself something stronger. Whiskey. Straight. Liquid courage, as the humans used to say.

Nesta didn’t comment on it. Just took a long sip of her own wine and let Elain lead her back toward the fire.

Elain handed Nesta a small, neatly wrapped package, fingers tightening around it for a moment before letting go. “I went into that bookshop,” she murmured, voice quiet but firm. “You know, the one by the theater? I asked for recommendations, and the woman—female, I mean… She said this author was her favorite.”

She didn’t mention that Azriel had been with her at the time, standing by her side as she thumbed through the pages, thoughtful and quiet. Nesta hesitated. But then, to Elain’s surprise, she took the gift. Progress.

Elain watched as Feyre unwrapped Azriel’s gift, a vibrant, rare paint from a continent far across the sea. And when Feyre opened Elain’s—fine brushes, monogrammed with her initials and the Night Court insignia—they both stilled for a moment. Elain caught Azriel’s eyes again, realization flickering between them. They had gotten Feyre nearly the same gift.

Unplanned. Azriel inclined his head ever so slightly. Elain mirrored it, suppressing a smile.

Then it was her turn. Elain opened Lucien’s gift, unfolding the note tucked inside.

"Enchanted gloves. That won't tear or become too sweaty while gardening."

She read it aloud, feeling the weight of expectation in the room. Elain loved feeling the earth. Loved the way the soil crumbled between her fingers, the way the ground spoke to her, the whisper of roots, the pulse of life beneath her palms. She didn’t want a barrier between herself and the land. She didn’t say that, of course. She just gave a small, polite smile.

But she barely had time to dwell on it before she realized—

Azriel’s gift. The last one left.

She turned toward him, suddenly nervous. “I had Madja make it for me,” she explained, heart hammering as Azriel unwrapped it. “It’s a powder to mix into any drink.”

Azriel’s expression remained carefully neutral. Elain swallowed. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you.”

A beat of silence.

She hurried on, cheeks warming. “I’ve noticed how often you rub your temples, how often you—”

Azriel laughed. A deep, unrestrained sound, rich and genuine. Elain stilled. She had heard him laugh like that before...  but never like that in front of the entire family. Only when it was just the two of them. His hazel eyes brightened, the green striking against the glow of the fire.

“Thank you,” he said, still chuckling, still watching her with that rare, soft amusement. “This will be invaluable.”

Elain felt her ears turn red. She wasn’t sure why that warmth spread through her chest, why she felt that moment so deeply. But as Azriel tucked the powder away, as his shadows curled ever so slightly toward her, as if pleased—

She knew, somehow, that this was a gift he would actually use. And that meant more than words could ever say.

Read The Rest on AO3

[ririright]

“His little galaxy far, far away”

Hayden, his family, and that cozy, chaotic, Star-Wars-meets-farm-life energy

The sun had barely cleared the ridge when Hayden stepped onto the porch, a steaming mug of cocoa in one hand and a pair of Baby Yoda socks peeking out from beneath his pajama pants. The air was crisp, the kind of cold that bit at your nose and made your breath come out in clouds. Off in the distance, a pony neighed indignantly, and somewhere behind the barn, a goose was already complaining about absolutely nothing.

“Morning, troops,” Hayden mumbled, mostly to the flock of ducks waddling past like they had appointments to keep. He sipped his cocoa, squinting out over the land he’d built with his own hands—a stretch of private farmland where every fence post, every pond, every goat was a piece of him.

Inside, the muffled sound of his son’s laughter echoed through the front windows, followed by a soft thump and the unmistakable hum of a toy lightsaber being swung with five-year-old conviction. Hayden smiled, chest warm with something deeper than cocoa. His wife’s silhouette passed briefly in the window, brushing hair from her eyes, holding a plate of pancakes with enough chocolate chips to count as a bribe.

This was it. His little galaxy far, far away.

And just as Hayden turned to go back inside, a rogue chicken leapt onto the porch rail, knocked over his mug, and looked him dead in the eye.

“…You were sent by the Dark Side,” Hayden whispered.

The chicken blinked once, slowly, like it knew.

Hayden stood still, hands on his hips, cocoa dripping off the porch rail, watching the smug little bird preen its feathers like it hadn’t just committed a crime. He let out a long sigh through his nose, shook his head, and muttered, “You may have won this round, Commander Cluck… but the rebellion lives.”

The screen door creaked open behind him.

“What are you doing?” (y/n) asked, voice still laced with the softness of morning. She stepped onto the porch wrapped in one of his old sweatshirts, her hair half-tied, one hand bracing the doorframe, the other holding the very plate of chocolate chip pancakes he’d seen moments ago.

Hayden turned, gesturing solemnly to the fallen mug and the chicken—who, to its credit, was now pecking at nothing like a professional innocent.

“Negotiating with poultry,” he said. “Poorly.”

She squinted at the chicken, then at the cocoa splattered across the rail, then back at her husband, who had a smear of chocolate on the corner of his mouth and the serious, wounded expression of a man personally wronged by a farm animal.

“You’re wearing your Yoda socks,” she said, amused.

“For wisdom.” He nodded sagely. “Didn’t help.”

She crossed the porch and handed him the plate. Hayden accepted it like it was a peace offering—fluffy pancakes stacked high, still warm, the chocolate chips half-melted into gooey little pockets of happiness. He took a bite without sitting down, groaning like he’d just been saved from starvation.

“I made extra,” she said, brushing crumbs from his flannel sleeve. “Figured you’d be out here getting into something.”

“I wasn’t looking for trouble,” Hayden said around a mouthful. “Trouble came at me with feathers and attitude.”

From inside the house, their son let out a high-pitched “whooooshhh!”—the sound of a plastic lightsaber being swung at full speed—and something clattered to the floor. Probably a couch cushion. Possibly a lamp.

Neither of them flinched.

His wife leaned against the porch railing beside him, ignoring the chicken still loitering nearby. “You think maybe today you could put up that second gate by the pond? The goats figured out the latch again.”

“I told you they’re learning,” Hayden said, serious. “Give ‘em one more month and they’ll be opening the fridge.”

She laughed, resting her head on his shoulder. He took another bite of pancake, then reached out to gently shoo the chicken off the rail with his foot. It flapped down in a grumpy flurry of wings and waddled off to bother the ducks.

“We built this life, huh?” he said quietly, voice suddenly softer beneath the sarcasm.

“Yeah,” she replied. “Feathers and all.”

[pr-achi]

   "Perfectly imperfect." A phrase that I never understood until he called me his goddess. When he replied "I'd rather watch her then a movie" when his classmates invited to watch a movie. And when one of his friend texted him—"Stars always go ignored when you have the moon" and he replied with "She's sun, my friend. Stars can not be visible in her presence."  Nither was I  picture perfect nor as intelligent, yet everytime I caught a glimpse of myself in those eyes, I saw the most delightful and excellent incarnation of myself. Like I’m a wonder the world forgot to write about, like my existence is art in its rawest, rarest form.

    He never needed me to be picture-perfect. He never once compared me to the girls who turn heads when they walk into a room. Because he saw something deeper, something raw and rare and utterly human. And in that unwavering gaze, I learned to see it too. Learned to soften around the sharp edges of my self-doubt, learned to hold my own hand when I began to spiral. Because if he, with all his quiet fire and fearless love, could look at me like I was worth everything—then maybe I am. Maybe the way he loves me is not a miracle, but a mirror. A reflection of all that I’ve never allowed myself to believe. And if someone were to ask me now "who is your favorite artist?" I would not say Da Vinci, nor Van Gogh, nor any other name history holds sacred. I would say his name, without hesitation. Because he created something no one else ever could—he made me believe I was art. Just as I am. Perfectly imperfect. Unapologetically his.

  And how do I answer the question if someone ask me "what's your favourite celestial object?", when all I can think about is my lover's eyes. How could I ever revere the distant constellations when his gaze holds galaxies too fierce to be named? Each blink is a nova—exploding with secrets that seem meant only for my heart to unravel.

    Those brown dragon eyes, the one that could make a grown man want to dig his own grave and hid. The same treacherous pair of eyes looks at me like I'm the most alluring soul he's ever encountered. When he looks at me, it is not as if I am merely a woman, but something far more sacred: a hymn composed of thunder and tenderness, a storm swathed in velvet, a lullaby that whispers even in silence.

    The eyes that makes me want to melt in them everytime I take a glance of it. The one that makes me want to kiss them until my lips can't feel anything anymore. The one that makes me want to abandon all the majestic sight ever existing. That makes me want to arraign all the Vinci's works, to declare every masterpiece overrated in comparison to the way he looks at me when I’m unaware—when I’m mid-thought, brushing a strand of hair away, or lost in a daydream.

    There are nights when I lie awake, not tormented by fear, but by the lingering echo of his voice—saying my name as if it’s a spell only he has the power to those quiet hours, the moon becomes envious, for I do not rise and fall with the pull of the tides; I rise and fall to the rhythm of his breath beside mine.

    People often speak of falling in love, but I did not fall—I soared. My wings, kissed and scorched by the wildfire of his soul, found in him a blaze I now call home.

    And I often wonder, truly wonder, what it is he sees when I’m not wearing my strength like armor. When my hair is a mess, when my voice shakes, when I’m fumbling through my thoughts like a child trying to make sense of constellations. He watches me in those moments with a reverence I’ve only read about in mythologies—like I’m a goddess who stepped down from some forgotten realm to walk beside him.

    And somehow, he’s never fooled by the masks I wear or the cracks I try to fill with silence. He sees past it all. To him, I am not a collection of flaws stitched together by good intentions. I am not the girl who gets insecure around people smarter or prettier or more accomplished. I am not the one who second-guesses every word she speaks. In his eyes, I am the sun—burning, constant, untouchable. And perhaps that’s what love truly is. Not blind, but piercingly aware. A kind of knowing that doesn’t flinch at imperfection but worships it, folds it into the story, makes it part of the legend.

— Prachi. C